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DIANTHA’S QUEST 


DIANTHA’S QUEST 

A Tale of the Argonauts of 9 49 


EMILIE BENSON KNIPE 

AND 


ALDEN ARTHUR KNIPE 



























% 































































































IT WAS NOT A PICTURE BUT A MAP 


DIANTHA’S QUEST 

A Tale of the Argonauts of *49 


BY 

EMILIE BENSON KNIPE 

AND 

ALDEN ARTHUR KNIPE 


e to gotfe 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1921 

All rights reserved 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



Copyright, 1921 

BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 


Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1921, 
By The Macmillan Company 



OCI 26 1921 


i 


FERRIS PRINTING COMPANY 
NEW YORK 


©CLA624978 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. A Jumping-off Place . 

II. A Mappe of the Lande of Faery 

III. The Bidwell's Bar Express 

IV. Fairy God-Mothers . 

V. Sam Adopts a Family 

VI. Uncle Toby Has a Plan . 

VII. On the Trail .... 

VIII. Indians 

IX. “Sitty Dol!” .... 

X. The Golden Fleece ... 

XI. Little Timmy Cronin 

XII. Buffalo 

XIII. Dots to the Rescue 

XIV. A Strange Indian 

XV. The Trail is Blocked . . . 

XVI. At Salt Lake City . . . 

XVII. In the Witches' Mountain 

XVIII. News of Mr. Carter . . 

XIX. Sourball in Trouble 

XX. The End of the Trail 
XXL Yerber Speaks Out 

XXII. A Torn Map .... 
XXIII. Sourball Walks In . . . 

XXIV. Sam's Wish Comes True 


PAGE 

I 

. I 4 

• 23 
. 40 

• 52 

■ 67 

• 75 

• 9 1 
. 100 
. 112 

• 125 

■ 137 

• 151 

. 162 

*74 
, 184 
193 
, 207 
, 217 
227 
246 
262 
271 
287 






LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

1. It was not a picture but a map Frontispiece 

2. Photograph of the old Pocket Guide to California 19 

3. “In your wagon-box, besides my father’s gloves” 33 

4. Hurriedly he took off his red neckerchief 98 

5. “There's Injuns, too" 143 

6. “Me tell" 171 

7. It was the map of fairyland he was hunting for. . 264 


f 












I 




















DIANTHA’S QUEST 


CHAPTER I 

A JUMPING-OFF PLACE 

O NE April day, in the year 1849, a little girl, 
dressed daintily, if cheaply, in gaily flowered 
calico, sat drawing with a pointed stick in 
the clean sand at her feet. She wore a straw sun- 
bonnet pulled well over her face and seemed quite 
oblivious to the activities of the strange camp not 
far away. There many men and women, already 
accustomed to life under canvas, were making bread, 
washing clothes, scouring tins, mending harness, re- 
pairing the high tops of their wagons; busy, in a 
hundred ways, with the homely tasks which were 
their daily portion. Dotted here and there over the 
broad plains, stretching out like a green carpet to 
the west, were knots of cattle, mules, oxen and horses 
grazing under the watchful eyes of mounted at- 
tendants. Behind the camp, separated from it by 
the river, was the little town of St. Joseph, the last 
center of civilization that these Argonauts were to 
see for many a weary day. 

Above the noise of their activities came the cheer- 
1 


2 


Diantha’s Quest 


ful shouts of the workers who seemed overflowing 
with enthusiasm. It was hard to believe 'that only 
a few short weeks before they had been living 
ordered lives, most of them on prosperous farms 
which they had never thought to leave, until news 
that gold had been discovered in California stirred 
them to undertake the great adventure they were 
now embarked on. 

The child, bent over her task, drew steadily on 
the sand. It became evident, as the sketch prog- 
ressed, that it was not a picture she was at work on 
but a map, and one that she held firmly in her mem- 
ory for she hesitated over no detail of it. 

Jumping up to carry it beyond the boundary with- 
in reach, she collided with a boy of about thirteen 
who had drawn near out of curiosity and had re- 
mained as absorbed as she in what she was doing. 
Annoyed at being observed, she at once started to 
erase her work with a foot the slenderness of which 
was ill disguised by the clumsy, thick-soled shoes she 
wore ; but the boy stopped her. 

“Don’t rub it out, sissy,” he said, “leastways, not 
till I’ve showed you where you’re plum wrong.” He 
reached back as he spoke and pulled a pamphlet out 
of a pocket in the striped jean trousers he wore. 

“My name is not ‘sissy,’ ” the girl said, with a 
show of offended dignity. 

“I never supposed it was, but I had to call you 
something,” the boy returned. “Now you sit right 
down here and I’ll show you this. It’s the real Con- 


A Jumping-Off Place 


3 


gresh’nal map, and it ought to be right.” He seated 
himself as he spoke and the girl slipped down be- 
side him, her sunbonnet serving now to conceal her 
amused smiles. 

“Livin’ near here, I reckon you talk to lots of 
folks who are hittin’ the trail, so perhaps you’ve seen 
one of these afore?” He held out the book. 

As the girl took it, shaking her head in the nega- 
tive, a number of newspaper clippings fell from be- 
tween the pages of the thin volume, and the boy 
hastened to pick them up, as if they were precious. 

“Read that first,” he suggested, selecting one. 
“Or shall I read it for you ?” This last remark was 
inspired by the delicate consideration that perhaps 
such learning was beyond her, a fact which the girl 
divined and laughed at secretly. 

“Oh, I can read it,” she said, and glanced at the 
frayed slip of paper in her hand. 

It ha*d been cut from a number of The Literary 
American of New York and was dated December 
30th, 1848. 

“ ‘The streams are paved with gold,’ ” the girl 
murmured as her eyes followed the print. “ ‘The 
mountains swell in their golden girdle. It sparkles 
in the sands of the valleys. It glitters in the coronets 
of the steep cliffs.’ ” 

“That’s what their al-cal-dee said,” the boy in- 
terrupted excitedly. “My dad says ‘al-cal-dee’ is 
same as — well, not President exactly, but mayor or 
judge.” 


4 Diantha’s Quest 

The girl nodded slowly and then read another 
sentence. 

“ ‘The author may have thought that there was 
poetry in this but he knew, as well as we do, that 
there was no truth in 'it.’ ” 

“That’s what the editor writ,” the boy cut in re- 
sentfully. “But he ’lows, further down, that there 
may be some truth in it. Anyway, I don’t think an 
al-cal-dee would lie.” 

“We know it’s true,” the girl remarked calmly, 
folding the paper and handing it back to her com- 
panion. “I’ve seen a man who was in San Francisco 
when .the first news came.” 

“Honest?” the boy questioned as if he could 
scarcely believe it. “What did he say?” 

“He told us all about it,” the girl went on, half 
indifferently. “A Mormon named Sam Brannancame 
swaggering down the street, swinging his hat in one 
hand and a bottle of yellow dust in the other, shout- 
ing ‘Gold! Gold! Gold from the American River!’ 
And then everybody seemed to go crazy.” 

The boy drew a deep breath. 

“That’s something to tell Dad!” he cried and 
made as if to rise; but sank back again, thinking, per- 
haps, that there was more news to be gleaned from 
this chance-met child. 

“Did the man who told you all that make a big 
strike?” he asked eagerly. 

The girl, instead of answering, looked up and put 
a question that would have brought an exclamation 


A Jumping-Off Place 


S 


of astonishment from any member of the crowded 
camp near them. 

“Why do you care so much about gold?” she in- 
quired curiously. 

“Care about gold?” he echoed in astonishment. 
“Why that’s what we’re all going after! Wouldn’t 
you like to find a treasure all your own? Sure you 
would.” 

“Yes, I should, if it were a beautiful treasure,” 
she answered, her eyes glowing. “If it were dia- 
monds and rubies and emeralds, that sparkled in the 
light. If it were soft silks and glittering satins, 
woven in all the colors of the rainbow. That is the 
sort of treasure I should like. But just lumps of 
gold ! They would not take me across a country full 
of snakes, and wolves, and Indians, and buffalos, and 
musquitos ! No, indeed ! And why should you go ? 
A man can find work that pays wherever he is.” 

The boy laughed at this outburst. 

“I want a good education,” he said, “and that 
costs money. At least the kind I’m after does. And 
Dad come home from the Mexican war to find what 
business he had gone to the dogs so he joined a club 
an’d, bein’ lucky, the lot fell to him.” 

The girl pushed back her sunbonnet revealing a 
flushed and very pretty face surmounted by a crop 
of curly red hair, and the boy gazed at her in sur- 
prise. Although she was small it was obvious she 
was nearly his own age, and that he had not ex- 
pected. 


6 


Diantha’s Quest 


“What’s the matter?” she asked, a shade irritably. 
“Do I look as if I’d bite?” 

“No, ma’am ! No, ma’am !” her companion splut- 
tered, “but I thought — I thought — 

“I know what you thought,” she said, witheringly, 
her size being a sore point with her. “You thought 
that everybody of the same age came cut to the same 
measure. Well, they don’t, and you know it now! 
So stop staring and tell me about your father’s club. 
What kind of a club was it?” 

“You must have heard of them,” the boy insisted. 
“A lot of men meet every week and they buy all the 
papers they can get that have news in them about 
California. They talk of the big strikes and what 
kind of minin’ pans out best and then they all pay 
dues, so much a week. When there’s enough money 
to grub-stake a man, they draw lots to see who’s to 
go. Well, my dad won. That’s how it comes we’re 
here.” 

“I don’t quite see what the men who stay behind 
get out of it,” the girl said, musingly. 

“They get their shares of course,” the boy replied 
in surprise. “There were ten altogether in Dad’s 
club. He ’lows to make enough to put all their feet 
on the mantelpiece for the rest of their lives — and 
t’wouldn’t be nothin’ unusual, accordin’ to the 
papers.” He patted his small bundle of clippings 
lovingly. 

“Did they send you, too?” 

“No,” the boy acknowledged, “they even didn’t 


A Jumping-Off Place 


7 


want me to go, thrnkin’ I’d hold Dad back; but the 
others had families and business or farms they 
couldn’t very well leave, and when we’d sold every- 
thing up we had enough of our own to pay for my 
grub and to buy me my pinto pony (I call her ‘Polka 
Dots.’ ‘Do'ts’ for shfort.) So I’m really richer than 
Dad. He only has a right to a tenth of what he 
makes and my strikes will be all my own.” 

The lad spoke proudly as if already h*e had- found 
rich treasures, as indeed he had many times in 
imagination. 

“And there ain’t goin’ to be any holdin’ 'back done 
by Dots or me,” he went on, giving rein to his fancy. 
“We could ride rings around Dad’s old oxen all day 
and not be tired, and when we meet Indians or buf- 
falo it’ll just be bang ! bang ! and all over with them ! 
Why even Dad ’lows I can shoot as straight as any 
sharp-shooter ever he met up with. And he ’lows my 
pinto is a great little mustang, if we did get her 
mighty cheap because she was sort of undersized.” 

“My father used to say, ‘precious things usually 
come in small packages.’ ” The girl smiled demurely 
to herself, as she remembered to whom this playful 
remark had reference. 

But the boy, full of his own ideas, merely nodded 
agreement and werft on. 

“Dots is strong an’ wiry, like a mustang ought -to 
be, and she’s smart. She can do tricks already. Find 
sugar in your pocket, she will; and shake ’hands ;*and, 


8 


Diantha’s Quest 


if she’s loose, she’ll come when I whistle. I tell you 
she’s a rip-snorter, she.is!” 

The girl watched him thoughtfully as she listened 
to his innocent boasting. She liked this boy. His 
speech was quite different from what she was accus- 
tomed to, with its defects of grammar and pronunci- 
ation; but she recognized *his genuineness and re- 
sponded to it ^t once. Feeling this, he continued 
earnestly. 

“Dots is the first real pet I ever had. You see 
I’ve been kind of bachin’ it since Dad was to the 
war.” 

“Bachin’ it?” she interrupted, wrinkling her brow 
interrogatively. “What is that?” 

“It means livin’ alone, like a man does who hasn’t 
any women folks,” the boy explained. “Dad left 
me to board with a family; but I just couldn’t stand 
it. I hadn’t nary place to study. The little children 
was always fightin’ or howlin’ fit to bust your ear- 
pans, an-d, while all the boys was expected to take it 
turn and turn* about to-do the chores, it was me that 
got the bawlin’ out if they wasn’t done; so I up and 
quit.” 

“But what did you do ?” 

“I figured that if I had to spend all that time on 
chores I might as well be pard for it, so I got a place 
where I swept' out *the store mornin’s for the use of 
their loft to sleep and study in. They paid me extry 
for all the odd jobs I did, such as fillin’ oil cans and 
runnin’ errands, so I made out to live and got so I 


A Jumping-Off Place 


9 


could recernize my own name again. I never heard 
nothin’ but ‘you-Sam’ at the Huttons.” 

“Is your name Sam?” 

“Yes’m! I’m Sam Brand, Jr. They call our out- 
fit ‘The S. Brand,’ like we was a bunch of cattle.” 
He laughed at the thought. 

“I am Diantha Carter,” the girl introduced her- 
self gravely ; ;then looked at him appraisingly before 
she added, seemingly satisfied by her scrutiny, “You 
may call me Di. I don’t think mama would object, 
although she has cautioned me not to be too ready to 
make friends.” 

“And she’s right, too!” Sam declared unexpect- 
edly. “There’s some mighty rough characters 
jumpin’ off from here, and a little lady like you had 
ought to be kind of keerful. Not that it’s as bad 
as it must be goin’ by way of the Isthmus,” he added 
reflectively. 

“Tell me about the Isthmus,” Diantha com- 
manded. “I know that it’s the quickest way to go 
West, but too expensive for — ” She stopped 
abruptly. She did not intend to talk of their poverty 
to this new acquaintance. 

“That’s right,” Sam agreed. “It’s too expensive 
for most folks. Of course it’s the quickest way. 
Round the Horn’s slow, and sure, and safe, and 
pretty comfortable; and we know what the prairie 
trails are. But the men who are sent out by rich 
clubs and the young bloods that are goin’ for the 
fun of it, hopin’ to strike it rich and make their pile 


10 


Diantha’s Quest 


to add to what they have already — they all choose 
the Isthmus. And so do the gamblers.” He ended. 

“How do you know so much about it?” Di asked 
curiously. “Has your father been out that way?” 

“No,” Sam shook his head. “No, ma’am. He 
hasn’t never been to Californy. He fit — fought, I 
mean — in Texas. But a man named Riley passed 
through Warsaw, where we lived, who had come 
up from the Isthmus. He hadn’t been to Californy 
neither and he ’lowed he wasn’t goin’. Malary had 
took all the tuck out of him. He’d went down south 
a piece, countin’ on makin’ a fortune out of fruit- 
growin’, but he said that mosquitoes so gosh-darned 
near et him up, — excuse me for tellin’ it, ma’am, — 
that he didn’t give a darn if the people up north 
didn’t never have a cocoa-nut. He was plum glad to 
get home alive. Beside, he saw his way to makin’ his 
pile anyhow, for he turned his little fruit-steamer 
into the passenger trade to Panama. He wanted 
Dad and me to go on her.” 

“Why didn’t you?” asked Di thoughtlessly. 

“Too expensive, for one thing. For another, Dad 
wasn’t no ways sure we’d make better time.” 

“Why not?” 

“Well,” said Sam, “Mr. Riley, he used to tell me 
a lot about it. At first because be thought I’d worrit 
Dad into goin’ by his boat, and later, when he found 
we was both sot on the other route, because it kind 
of eased his mind to say all the bad things he could 
think of about the country down there.” 


A Jumping-Off Place 


11 


“Tell me what he told you!” Di, her round chin 
propped in her hand, was enjoying herself as she 
had not done since her father had repeated fairy 
tale after fairy tale, hardly waiting for her “Tell me 
another, papa. Just one more before I go to bed.” 

“Oh, you must have heard all about it,” Sam sug- 
gested deprecatingly. 

“Not much,” Di assured him. “All mama and 1 
were told is that, if you pay enough, you get a won- 
derful cabin on a boat that is like a fairy palace, and 
you go to a place called Chagres ; and then you have 
a lovely time crossing the Isthmus to Panam'a where 
you find another beautiful steamboat waiting to take 
you to San Francisco Bay.” 

At this Sam fairly snorted. 

“So that’s what they tell women folks?” he said 
derisively. “Do you know what that puts me m 
mind of? There was once one of them artist fellers 
come to Warsaw and what does he do but paint a 
real hand-made oil painting of Lize Hutton. Ho'mely 
as a mud fence, she is, with freckles and red hair — ” 
Diantha pulled her forgotten sunbonnet over her 
curls — “but that picture looked just like an angel — 
yet it was like Lize, too.” 

“Then it’s really different from the way they told 
us?” 

“Sure it’s different,” Sam averred. “Maybe you 
get one of the good steamers to start off; but unless 
you’re born lucky you strike some old tub and, as 
you’re in a hurry or you wouldn’t go that way at all, 


12 


Diantha’s Quest 


you take it rather than wait no one knows h’ow long, 
for a better chance. But we’ll ’low you get the good 
boat and that you ain’t sea-sick. Then what hap- 
pens?” 

“You get to Chagres,” said Di eagerly. 

“Some time, yes. But before that you’ve got to 
eat every day, and you’ve got to sleep some; and 
there’s three times too many people for the seats at 
meal-times and whenever they sight a dolphin, or 
think they do, every man on board rushes to the side 
and fires his pistol at it.” 

“What for?” asked Diantha, startled. “Are dol- 
phins dangerous?” 

“I don’t know,” Sam acknowledged honestly. “I 
don’t rightly know what dolphins is; but Mr. Riley 
told me that was what they did.” 

“Mama would hate that, but I think the noise 
would be good for me. Perhaps I’d learn not to stick 
my fingers in my ears. And I’d always have the 
wonderful trip up the river to look forward to.” 

“How do you suppose you’d get up the river?” 
Sam doled out his superior information in minute 
doses. 

“I’d engage a boat. That would be easy!” 

The ‘boy Shook his head. 

“Not so easy as you’d think. When the ship 
anchors, all of the men make a rush for the shore, 
with their picks and shovels and everything they can 
carry on their backs. The quickest and strongest 


A Jumping-Off Place 


13 


get the boats. Fare, fifteen dollars a man, and there 
ain’t never enough dug-outs to go ’round.” 

“And what happens to the poor souls who are left 
behind?” asked Di, not unnaturally startled by such 
a picture. 

“I suppose they sit on the beach and watch the 
native men — and women — smoke their big black 
seegars” Sam grinned. “They don’t get up the 
river, not that day anyway.” 

“Go right on,” said Di, half indignantly. “Tell 
me everything you know that’s horrid.” 

“You asked me, and I’m only tellin’ you how it is,” 
Sam declared. “It ain’t my fault. At Gatun, where 
people sleep the first night, there are no beds, only 
hammc/cks — .” 

“Mama would be afraid she’d fall 'out. She’d 
never sleep in a hammock, I know.” 

“She’d never sleep in one of those hammocks,” 
Sam agreed grimly. “They’re too full of fleas. And 
it rajns and rains, 'and the water comes •through the 
bamboo roofs by the bucket-full. Then, when you’re 
’most to Cruces, you have to bargain again to get a 
mule to ride to Panama, and each mule steps 'in the 
mud-holes other mules have made, and the mud 
squirts up till no one could see if you was white or 
black. And at Panama there .are hundreds of people 
waiting for ships, because there ain’t half as many 
of them sailin’ in the Pacific trade as in the Atlantic 
— and maybe you never get to Californy after all!” 


CHAPTER II 

A MAPPE OF THE LAND OF FAERY 

D IANTHA CARTER had listened to Sam’s 
too truthful tale of the difficulties of the 
trip across the Isthmus with mixed feelings. 
When his recital came to an abrupt stop she did not 
ask him for any more sordid details. Instead she 
said, with gentle posftiveness but some haste : 

“That’s the way you think it is. Now I’ll tell 
you how I see it. You go on a beautiful white boat 
like a floating pearl and you sail and sail over a blue, 
blue sea under a blue, blue sky with great white birds 
dipping and soaring around you. And the sea is so 
smooth that no one even thinks of being sea-sick but 
all enjoy every minute of the day. You watch the 
flying-fish that skim across the water like shining bits 
of silver, and no one shoots at the dolphins because 
they love to see them racing with the ship. And 
when a whole fleet of nautiluses come out to meet 
you — .” 

“I never heard of them before, naughty what- 
do-you-call-’ems,” Sam interrupted. 

14 


A Mappe of the Lande of Faery 15 

“Nautiluses?” Di asked, “Oh, they’re tiny boats 
that the fairies use when they sail to greet you or to 
wish you a prosperous journey.” Her tone was so 
matter-of-fact that Sam hesitated to utter the scorn- 
ful doubts which her words had roused, and Di went 
on. 

“Their satin sails shine in the sun, all pink and 
purple, and they lead you into the harbor safely. 
There graceful canoes await you — .” 

“I know there ain’t never enough boats to go 
’round,” Sam muttered obstinately, determined to 
cling to his superior information. Di waved her 
hand. 

“Graceful canoes await those who wish at once to 
pursue their journey,” she said, smoothly. “For 
those who remain behind there is the hospitality 
of—.” 

Here Sam could no longer conceal his incredulity. 

“There ain’t but one hotel !” he exclaimed. “The 
Crescent City. It hasn’t so much as a floor, and no 
food neither.” 

“Don’t interrupt me !” Di’s tone was severe. “Re- 
member Vm telling you now. For those who remain 
behind there is the hospitality of the castle,” she 
went on with a glance of triumph at Sam, who mut- 
tered, vanquished: 

“I did hear tell of a castle on the bluff.” 

“Of course you did,” said Di, serenely, “You’re 
invited to the castle where lovely maidens with beau- 


16 


Diantha’s Quest 


tiful black hair bring golden bowls full of rose-water 
for you to bathe your face and hands. Then they 
take you to a hall where you are served with a won- 
derful banquet ’and strange and delicious fruits of 
orange, and rose, and green. Here the tables are dec- 
orated with flowers such as you have never dreamed 
of, and toward sunset, in the cool of the evening, 
they set you on your way in the castle galley with 
gilded awnings and gay floating streamers, and at- 
tendants who wave great soft feather fans and sing 
to you as you float up the stream in the moonlight. 
And, when the time comes to take the trail to 
Panama, you find waiting for you white mules with 
silken trappings carrying litters fit for a princess to 
ride in. And if there was mud you would never 
know it, for you would be high above it, watching 
the funny monkeys and emerald parrots and butter- 
flies like all the jewels Cortes ever carried back to 
Spain in his treasure-ships.” 

“I never -heard tell of him before,” said Sam, 
deeply interested. “How do you know such things ?” 

Di smiled a wise smile. 

“I know I I know!” she chanted. “I know more 
than I can tell. About great galleons full of gol'd 
and jewels. About rivers of pearl and mountains 
of emerald. About Panama with its ancient 
churches and cathedrals, its quaint houses with 
brightly painted verandas, like pretty bird-cages 
hanging from the walls. About the richly colored 


17 


A Mappe of the Lande of Faery 

awnings that stretch from roof to roof to shade the 
narrow streets from the hot sun. I know ! I know ! 
But I do not tell all I know,” she ended provokingly. 

“By jings, I believe you’ve been there !” cried Sam. 
“You couldn’t make all that up.” 

To this Di made no answer. For the moment it 
wafs her tricksy fancy to be mysterious. Her mother, 
who never treated her flights of imagination ser- 
iously, had of late been her only audience, while her 
father, who followed when he did not lead her into 
the land of make-believe, was far away. 

But upon Sam Brand the girl’s fantasies made a 
deep impression. He was at first inclined to be 
scornful of her words, but, as he listened and 
watched the glowing expressions on her face, he 
seemed to see pictures in his mind. Something within 
him stirred that had never been awakened by the 
hum-drum life of the small western town in which he 
had spent his thirteen years. 

So far, Sam’s very practical existence had con- 
cerned itself almost wholly with the ways and means 
of earning a scanty livelihood. The people he had 
known before starting on this wonderful journey had 
talked chiefly of their cattle and their crops. Of 
story books he knew nothing, and when the Cali- 
fornia gold discoveries gave rise to exaggerated tales 
which were all too readily believed, the boy’s starved 
imagination expanded so quickly that he was more 
than ready to follow Diantha Carter into any realms 
of make-believe whither she chose to lead him. 


18 


Diantha’s Quest 


Moreover he recognized that this girl had an edu- 
cation which he lacked. There were certain refine- 
ments of speech and manner that showed a breeding 
he recognized but could not name. Thrs gave her a 
certain authority in Sam’s eyes, and, although in 
practical affairs he had full confidence in himself, 
here was a matter outsid'e of his -experience. He was 
almost ready to accept all that she might say without 
question. This new world of which Di had just 
shown him the threshold was strange a-nd alluring 
and the boy began to doubt where fact ended and 
fancy began. 

“She might be one of them fairies herself, for all 
I know,” he thought. 

Di also had been receiving impressions and, al- 
though she could not have put this clearly in words, 
divined that Sam Brand’s mind was fallow ground 
in which she might sow some seeds; whereupon she 
accepted -him joyfully as a new plaything. 

“He’ll never, never know how much I really be- 
lieve of what I’m telling, and it will be lots of fun,” 
she thought, and then, whimsically, “I wonder if I 
know myself?” 

“I got to be gettin’ back to Dad,” Sam said, with 
a sudden change of subject. “If we’re goin’ to cor- 
rect your map we’d better get at it.” 

He took his booklet from her and opened it at the 
title-page. 

“Read that,” he suggested, “then you’ll see it’s 
what I told you, and it must be right !” 




POCKET GUIDE TO CALIFORNIA; 

, , V ' - 

SEA km LAM) WHITE BOOK. 

, " i,mmxmrxa ' , . * 

A FULL DESCRIPTION OF THE EL DORADO, 

• ' - - -> ^ 

IS* ' < Vv ‘ 

A6RICOLTWAL MWiffam COWWAMS? %L AJW ANrA(»KS 

;; 7 s ’ 

' / • " * • . > vti'vinnm 

A CHAPTER ON GOLD FORMATIONS s 

: ^Vv*$ : ■. yCT^Y - ’ j 

THE CONGRESSIONAL MAP, 

■ - **» ' . , * . 

the imwi udn.m simxm to ths mijaum 

’■•■)'■ ' . *0 wmen « *tmm» ' V' A% 

Practical Advice to Voyagers. 

; • ■ • "£\; 4 — Lw, • '. \,v» •• 

BY J. E SHERWOOD. \! , 

“ •; \ ‘ ; ’ — .. 

W« «»w tH» ■ •><• .<• t »<! ■!• »««« *»> HI) v' »**«#***- ’ „ 

, ; % * *: 

. ■ v -, •-*.***-* ^ > x ^ ' v v •' 

3Jn» Scrlr. 

J. E SHF.RWOOD, PtnJti|HKR AND PROPRAETOR 

mMifO’ w t«r« rnmnum, m Ann mamr • ■. '<m. 

■ 

CAiMtx^iu ! «®sk#*je. 


ISHfcS 


A Mappe of the Lande of Faery 


19 


The 

Pocket Guide to California 
a 

Sea and Land Route Book 
containing 

a description of the El Dorado; its Geographical Position; 
People, Climate, Soil, Productions, Agricultural 
Resources, Commercial Advantages, 
and Mineral Wealth: 
with 

a Chapter on Gold Formations; 
also the 

Congressional Map, 
and 

The Various Routes and Distances to the Gold Regions. 
To which is added the 

Gold Hunter’s Memorandum and Pocket Directory. 

By J. E. Sherwood 

“Westward the Course of Empire takes its way.” Berkeley. 
New York 

J. E. Sherwood, Publisher and Proprietor 
For sale by 

H. Long & Brother, 46 Ann Street, Bereford & Co., 
Astor House, and the principal Booksellers throughout 
the Union 

California, Berford & Co. and C. W. Holden, 

San Francisco 
1849 

“It seems a good deal to put into one thin little 
book,” Di remarked a moment later. 


20 


Diantha’s Quest 


“It’s all there, just like it says,” Sam assured her 
solemnly. “And I’ve read every word of it! Now 
here’s the map,” he went on, spreading it open before 
her. “You can see it ain’t like yours.” 

“Of course not,” Di agreed. “Maps of different 
places aren’t the same, silly!” 

Sam’s mouth dropped open a little. He was not 
used to being called “silly” by one of the weaker sex. 
Indeed, had it been a boy who so named him, his 
retort would have been both prompt and vigorous. 
As it was he stood speechless while Diantha laughed 
at him. 

“You thought no one would bother now-a-days 
to draw a map of anything but the trails to the gold 
fields,” she said briskly. “Well, most people 
wouldn’t, but my map is of something much more 
wonderful.” Provokingly, with considerable care, 
she erased the last traces of it as she spoke. 

“More wonderful than the diggin’s!” Sam was 
thoroughly sceptical now,— “There ain’t no such 
place !” 

“Oh, yes, there is !” Di said positively. “A beauti- 
ful land, with lilies of ivory and birds like flying 
gems; where every wind is scented by the flowers 
and full of the music of the birds — ” 

“Are — are you talkin’ of Heaven?” Sam asked 
diffidently. 

“No, no,” Di assured him. “I’m talking of the 
place we’re trying to go to.” 

“Are you goin’ somewhere?” The boy was sur- 


A Mappe of the Lande of Faery 21 

prised. Whole families, journeying the trail to- 
gether and carrying all their worldly possessions 
with them, were not an unusual sight, but these 
people were not of the class to which his new ac- 
quaintance obviously belonged, and he had taken it 
for granted that she had wandered over to see the 
camp from a substantial home nearby, or -had come 
across the river from the town of St. Joseph to 
visit.the crowded jumping-off place which, thus early 
in the year, was still a novelty. 

Suddenly Di started to her feet as4f a recollection 
had just struck her. 

“I must hurry back .to Mama,” she said. “By 
this time she probably thinks I’m lost and has poor 
Uncle Toby runnin’ everywhere hunting for me.” 

As if to justify this prophecy a little bent, old 
negro came toward them. 

“Here he is now!” she exclaimed, then called, 
“Are you looking for me, Uncle Toby?” 

“ ’Clare to goodness, Miss Di,” the old man ex- 
claimed as he took off his hat and wiped his shiny 
bald ‘head with an enormous bandana handkerchief. 
“Your ma she’s jest havin’ conniption fits over you.” 

“Nonsense, Uncle Toby. Mama wouldn’t have 
a conniption if there was an earthquake and a cyclone 
and an eruption of Vesuvius all at the same time. 
She’s the very calmest person I know,” Diantha 
asserted. 

“Sure she is ca’m,” the old man agreed. “Us 


22 


Diantha’s Quest 


Carters has ca’m conniptions. That’s the kind we 
has. Us Carters — ” 

“I’m ready ’anyhow,” Di cut into the flow of his 
eloquence, for she knew that once started on the 
remarkable qualities of “Us Carters” Uncle Toby 
would discourse unendingly. “Good-by, Sam, I hope 
I’ll see you again.” 

“Good-by!” Sam, had he been given to self- 
analysis would liave been surprised at his regret at 
losing so new an acquaintance. “I dunno *about 
seein’ me again. Dad he aims to tie-up to the first 
party he likes the looks of. I reckon we’ll be steppin’ 
out on the trail tomorrow or next day.” 

Diantha shook her head in her own provoking 
way. 

“I’ll see you again,” she declared, and moved off 
beside the old negro who looked strangely out of 
place in the flannel shirt, butternut trowsers tucked 
into cowhide boots and the wide hat of the plainsman. 

Sam stood looking after the two reflectively, and 
while he gazed Di turned. 

“You know I have a map of my own. I’m going 
on a journey, too,” she called. 

“Where are you going?” Sam demanded. 

Her answer came back to him clear and distinct 
through the still air. 

“I’m going to Fairy-land!” she said, and that was 


all. 


CHAPTER III 

THE BIDWELl/s BAR EXPRESS 

D IANTHA and Uncle Toby moved slowly 
through the camp, picking their way care- 
fully amid a litter of miscellaneous objects 
scattered on the ground about the wagons. A fever- 
ish activity pervaded this curious settlement, and 
above.the babble of gossip one word seemed to be on 
every .tongue. Gold ! Apparently it began and ended 
every sentence. The daily tasks were performed for 
but one object. The only news in which any mem- 
bers of that excited band were interested had to do 
with gold. From early morning till the camp 
quieted for the night the one topic of conversation 
was gold, and in their sleep these impatient emi- 
grants even dreamed of the precious metal. They 
awoke only to take up once more the endless discus- 
sion of the discovery that had set them upon a path 
filled with unknown dangers. 

Hour by hour fresh arrivals from the east added 
to the numbers of this heterogeneous assemblage 
and, as each new party came to a halt, they cried 
aloud for the latest word from the gold fields. 

And no tale was too fantastic for belief. Ex- 


23 


24 


Diantha’s Quest 


travagant rumors of impossible discoveries were 
accepted at their face value, and, in his heart, every 
man was certain that untold riches were to be his 
portion when once he reached the California foot- 
hills. 

The perils of the long journey ahead of them; 
the privations and fatigue of the desert marches, 
the pain and toil of climbing well-nigh pathless 
mountain ranges; the agony of the blistering heat 
of the prairies; and the ever-present fear of snow in 
the Sierras; these dangers lost their menace, because 
none doubted that when their goal was reached, gold 
was to be had in abundance by the simple process of 
picking it up from the encrusted ground. Who would 
hesitate to sacrifice everything or brave any hard- 
ship to reach so promising a land? 

To the west all eyes were turned. From their 
camp the path lay through a wilderness inhabited 
only by savages, and against these and the hazards of 
the road, parties were formed for mutual protection. 
Wagon trains, under the command of elected 
leaders, departed almost daily, and at -this and other 
“jumping-off” places such trains were organized. 

So far, the Carter outfit had failed to measure 
up to the requirements insisted upon by the leaders 
of these adventurous bands, and Mrs. Carter had 
begun to fear that they would be left behind. In 
all her carefully planned arrangements she had not 
foreseen the difficulties that now confronted her, and 


The Bidwell’s Bar Express 25 

each day’s delay diminished her store of provisions 
alarmingly. 

“I have had word that a man named Yerber is 
jumping off tomorrow with a train of thirty wago-ns,” 
she told Di as the girl and Uncle Toby reached the 
white, canvas-topped wagon which constituted their 
home. “Have you heard anything of it?” 

“There’s a lot of talk,” Di replied. “They say 
this Yerber has been over the trail before and knows 
all about it.” 

“Do you think they would let us go with them?” 
the mother inquired anxiously. 

“It won’t do any harm to ask,” Di said, briskly. 
She was as impatient as her mother to be upon the 
way. “I think I know where his outfit is. Let’s try 
to see him this afternoon.” 

They set out later on, picking a path between 
tents, prairie schooners and farm carts and asking 
a question here and there, until they reached the 
object of their search. 

This was a light wagon made with a bed of sheet- 
iron shaped like a boat and intended for just that 
use when swollen streams forced the travelers to 
ferry their goods. It was covered with a top of 
soiled canvas and painted in red upon the side were 
the words, “Express to Bidwell’s Bar.” Apparently 
the outfit was deserted, although the camp stove 
burned merrily. 

“He’s gone for water,” said Mrs. Carter, noting 
that the pails were missing from their place beside 


26 Diantha’s Quest 

the tar bucket which hung between the wheels. 
“We’ll wait.” 

“Be you any kin to Yerber?” asked a young man 
who slouched up to them with the free and uncon- 
ventional manners of the camp. 

“No, I’m Mrs. Carter,” that lady answered 
pleasantly. “I wanted to see if Captain Yerber 
would let us join his wagon-train.” 

“I dunno about that,” the man returned doubt- 
fully. “Yerber ain’t one to take on nobody that 
can’t keep up. He’s made the trip before, he has, 
and he means to be over the mountains before snow 
flies.” 

Three or four other men came drifting over from 
nearby wagons, full of curiosity to know what two 
females might want with the redoubtable Yerber. 

“Yerber don’t calc’la'te to have this no Donner 
party, ma’am,” one of them volunteered, and then 
noting Mrs. Carter’s blank expression, added, “Ain’t 
you ever heard of the Donners?” 

Mrs. Carter shook her head. 

“Don’t that beat all?” he went on, in a sort of 
sing-song. “Why I reckoned the hull world knew of 
the Donners. They was a big train, ma’am, what 
was caught in the mountains. They say you can see 
to this day how deep the snow was, because the 
stumps of the trees they cut down for fire-wood and 
huts is standin’ twenty-five foot up in the air. One 
feller told me he didn’t believe it till he climbed up 
and saw the axe marks.” 


27 


The Bidwell’s Bar Express 

“That’s dreadful!” Mrs. Carter murmured, with 
difficulty suppressing a shudder. 

“You bet it was !” another man declared. “An’ it 
all come o’ talcin’ on anybody what wanted to jin’e 
the outfit. You won’t find Yerber bein’ caught like 
that. He aims to travel , once he starts.” 

“It’s a man’s job, ma’am,” one of the by-standers 
put in, not unkindly. “I left my women folks back 
home. That’s the place for ’em.” 

“But I must go,” Mrs. Carter said positively. 
“Can any of you tell me whether Captain Yerber 
will be here soon or not?” 

“He’ll be here pretty quick, I’m thinkin’,” was the 
answer from a man who eyed the hot stove with an 
amused smile on his face. “If he don’t come soon 
his sinkers will be charcoal. I can smell ’em burnin’ 
now.” 

With an exclamation Mrs. Carter ran to the stove 
and threw the oven door open. 

“Make some place ready to put these!” she said 
peremptorily. “They’ll be as heavy as lead if we 
let them stand in this cold wind.” 

Immediately the men fell into confusion. They 
argued of this place and that till Di grew impatient. 

“A man can imagine only one place for biscuits,” 
she said contemptuously, “and that’s in his mouth. 
Here, Mama, put them in here.” 

Impulsively she threw back the lid of the wagon 
box and then stood speechless, looking down at 
something that lay within. 


28 


Diantha’s Quest 


One of the men removed the hot pan from the 
oven, carried it to the box and clapped down the 
cover. 

“It takes a girl to think of a thing like that,” he 
said with the utmost good-temper, “and here comes 
Captain Yerber now. I can hear him singin’.” 

Indeed so could anyone else who was not stone 
deaf. Captain Yerber, evidently in the best of 
humors, was coming up from the water with a full 
pail in each hand, trolling out “Oh Susannah” in a 
voice that was seemingly more pleasing to the singer 
than it was to his hearers. 

“I’ll scrape the mountains clean, old girl! 

I’ll drain the rivers dry. 

I’m off for California, Susannah, don’t you cry! 

Oh, Susannah don’t you cry for me. 

I’m off to California with my washbowl on my knee.” 

He stopped abruptly at the sight of the gathering 
by his wagon and set down his buckets. 

“See who’s here!” he said jocularly. 

“Lady to see you, Captain Yerber,” one of the 
men explained, then thinking to make it easier for 
Mrs. Carter, he added, friendlily, “wants to join our 
wagon train.” 

“How many in your party?” Yerber spoke curtly. 

“Three,” replied Mrs. Carter. “My daughter 
and I, and Uncle Toby.” 

“What’s your outfit?” 


The Bidwell’s Bar Express 


29 


“Three strong white mules. A new light wagon. 
Enough food to take us to the Mormons where we 
intend to buy more.” Mrs. Carter’s heart was 
beating fast. So many trains had refused to allow 
them to join, fearing to be responsible for a woman 
and girl who had no real protector, that it was hard 
now to conceal her dread lest this should prove an- 
other such disappointment. 

“Say, Captain,” one of the onlookers drawled, “I 
think I know their outfit. You campin’ over on the 
sand bar?” he asked turning to Mrs. Carter. 

“Yes,” the lady acknowledged, not knowing 
whether the man would prove a friend or foe. 

‘It’s the best little outfit on this side of the river,” 
the man declared heartily. “I’d like mighty well to 
buy your mules, ma’am, — or swap ’em if you’d con- 
sider a swap.” 

“I’m sure we need them even more than you do,” 
Mrs. Carter returned with a smile, his words in her 
favor giving her a hope that at last she would have 
her way. “When do we start?” she added daringly. 

“The Yerber wagon train aims to jump off 
tomorrow morning at sun-up,” Captain Yerber said 
non-commitally, “but I ain’t easy in my mind about 
you yet, ma’am. Where’s your men folks ? Why do 
you come to me? Can’t this uncle of yours speak 
for himself? Is he sick?” 

“He’s not my uncle, he’s my servant,” Mrs. Carter 
replied, as indifferently as she could manage; but she 


30 


Diantha’s Quest 


had dreaded the question, knowing the effect her 
answer had produced theretofore. 

Yerber gave a long-drawn whistle. 

“You mean to tell me,” he exclaimed, “that you 
and this little girl here aim to get to Californy with- 
out a man belongin’ to you? Tain’t possible !” 

“But we have Uncle Toby,” Mrs. Carter insisted, 
trying vainly to control the tremor in her voice. “He 
is strong and well. We should not be a burden to 
anyone.” 

There was an unmistakable murmur of sympathy 
among the rough men forming the group. They 
noted Mrs. Carter’s distress and their hearts were 
touched. One after another put in a word for the 
“'little woman,” as they mentally called her. 

“Give her a chance, Captain. A man’s a man 
even if he is hired. He can shoot a gun, I reckon.” 

“She’s got a right smart outfit I will say. She 
won’t have no trouble keepin’ up.” 

“And say, Cap, she saved your sinkers! They’d 
a-been burned blacker ’an your off mare if it hadn’t 
been for her.” 

“My sinkers!” Yerber fairly shouted, dashing to 
the stove. “I clean forgot ’em.” 

“Your biscuits are quite safe, Captain Yerber,” 
Mrs. Carter said, quick to take advantage of the 
situation. “You see even a lone woman has her 
uses.” 

“I ain’t denyin’ it, ma’am,” Yerber returned, not 
ungraciously. The men about him were plainly on 


31 


The Bidwell’s Bar Express 

Mrs. Carter’s side and he was eager to retain his 
popularity. Moreover he had no great fear that 
one wagon with good animals would delay the strong 
party he had assembled. If he accepted them, and 
worse came to worst, he could combine the Carter 
outfit with one of the others. 

“Then you’ll let us go with you?” Mrs. Carter 
asked hopefully. 

“Well, well,” Yerber began and seemed about to 
commit himself, when one of the bystanders spoke 
again, thinking, doubtless, to clinch the matter for 
the lady. 

“Mrs. Carter’s outfit will make thirty-three, 
Captain, and everyone ’lows there’s luck in odd 
numbers.” 

It was the first time that Yerber had heard the 
name of the woman who stood before him and, at 
the mention of it, both Di and her mother, watch- 
ing the man’s face intently, saw a change of expres- 
sion come into the small, close-set eyes. The look of 
tolerant good humor gave place to a shifty glance 
of cunning. 

“I ain’t said she was goin’,” Yerber told the man 
who had just spoken. “Leastways not in my train. 
I want to know more about this here Uncle Toby of 
yours, ma’am,” he went on addressing Mrs. Carter. 
“I never heard tell of a lady callin’ her hired help 
‘uncle’.” 

“Oh, that is the custom in Virginia,” Mrs. Carter 
replied. She felt that for some reason Yerber had 


32 


Diantha’s Quest 


suddenly changed his mind; and her heart sank with 
disappointment. Nevertheless she tried not to show 
her emotion. “You see,” she explained with a smile, 
“Uncle Toby was born on the Carter place. He has 
always belonged to the family, and — .” 

“You mean he’s a slave?” Yerber cut in harshly. 
He felt sure of his position now, and began to 
bluster. “Well, ma’am, I don’t hold with slave- 
ownin’ — 

“But he is not a slave!” Mrs. Carter interrupted 
quickly. “He is as free as we are. He has been with 
us in many of the free states and could do exactly 
as he pleased. But he did not wish to leave us. He 
is oyr friend.” 

“That’s all very well to say,” Yerber retorted, 
“but, whether it’s true or not, we ain’t aimin’ to 
take blacks in this outfit. And what’s more, ma’am, 
if you’ll listen to my advice, and it’s kindly meant, 
this country ain’t fit for fine ladies that travel with 
their slaves or servants. You’d better go back to 
Virginy where you belong. Californy don’t w r ant 
you.” 

He half turned away as if the matter were at an 
end, but one of the men stopped him. 

“Now see here, Captain — ,” he began in a con- 
ciliatory tone, but Yerber wheeled on him with a 
snarl. 

“Am I mistook?” he asked angrily. “I thought 
you had elected me captain o’ this outfit!” 

“So we did, but — .” 




“IN YOUR WAGON-BOX, BESIDES MY FATHER’S GLOVES” 


33 


The Bidwell’s Bar Express 

‘‘There ain’t goin’ to be no buts !” Yerber went on, 
raising his voice. “It’s me that has crossed the trail 
to Californy and knows its kinks. It’s me that has 
promised to get you through in record time! If 
any o’ you think o’ bein’ cap’n and mean to have 
the pickin’ of the party, all you have to do is to 
notify me legal. Till that time, what I say goes. 
Understand that!” 

Once more he turned on his heel, but once more 
he was stopped. 

“You’re forgetting your biscuits, Captain Yerber,” 
Di said politely. “You don’t even know where they 
are. 

“Where are they?” he demanded looking down at 
the small figure before him. 

“They’re in your wagon-box,” she returned, and 
throwing back her bonnet she looked him unflinching- 
ly in the eyes, “beside my father’s gloves,” she added, 
raising her voice so that all might hear. 

For an instant a profound silence fell upon the 
little group. Thieves were given short shrift in the 
days of ’49, and there was a sharp challenge in the 
girl’s tone. Every eye was fixed on Yerber. 

“What do you mean?” he cried, taking a step 
toward her. “I know nothing about your father’s 
gloves.” 

“I mean exactly what I say,” Di returned steadily, 
facing the angry man. “My father’s gloves are in 
your wagon-box.” 


34 Diantha’s Quest 

“You must be mistaken, Di,” her mother mur- 
mured anxiously. 

“I am not mistaken,” Di insisted, her eyes still 
upon the man. “I saw them. They are there now. 
Where did you get them, Captain Yerber?” 

“What business have you a-pokin’ in my wagon- 
box?” Yerber demanded furiously; but the other 
men stopped him at once. 

“Stow that, Yerber,” one of them said. “Your 
box was only opened to put your own sinkers in. If 
the girl saw what was in it she couldn’t help that. 
Now what about those gloves ? We’re all askin’ you, 
ain’t we, mates?” 

“Sure!” the others answered unanimously. 

“See 'here,” said Yerber, “I don’t mean to pay any 
attention to silly questions. Am I your captain or 
ain’t I?” 

“You’re our captain from the minute we jump off 
at sun-up tomorrow,” the spokesman answered 
steadily, “and we ain’t doubtin’ now that you can 
tell the little lady where you got her pa’s gloves.” 

“You talk as if there wasn’t but one pair of gloves 
in the world,” Yerber snarled. “The gloves in there 
are mine. Make no mistake about that!” 

A trifle daunted, the spokesman turned inquiringly 
to Di, who replied disdainfully: 

“What right has he to gloves with the initials C. 
C. C. embroidered on them? Isn’t his name 
Yerber?” 

“She sort o’ has him there,” one of the bystanders 


35 


The Bidwell’s Bar Express 

whispered to another, hitching his pistol into a use- 
ful position. 

But Yerber had had time to collect himself. He 
had been in numerous tight corners in his day. This 
was no worse than many others that a glib tongue 
and ready bluster had gotten him out of. 

“As it happens my name ain’t Yerber. It’s Cyrus 
C. Coleman. Round the Bay they call me Yerba 
Buena Cy and that’s where you get the ‘Yerber’ 
from,” he grinned. “C. C. C. Them’s my letters 
Missy.” 

The men looked from one to another, puzzled; 
but Di never faltered. 

“After all, the name doesn’t matter,” she said. 
“The point is that those gloves are my father’s, and 
I can prove it.” She turned to the little crowd who 
surrounded the strange contestants, “I embroidered 
them myself. Not very well, of course, for I wasn’t 
as old as I am now, but my blue silk gave out — and 
you will find that the last C on the left glove is done 
in purple.” 

“She saw it when she opened the box!” shouted 
Yerber. 

“I did,” Di acknowledged. “That was what made 
me so sure. But there is still another proof, and 
everyone here can tell you that I never touched the 
gloves. Look inside that left glove and, on the 
gauntlet, beside the letters, you will find three little 
brown spots, like this.” She stooped and made three 


36 


Diantha’s Quest 


holes in the ground with her finger. . * . “It’s blood 
from a needle-prick.” 

With an assumption of curiosity Yerber himself 
took the gloves out of the wagon-box and examined 
them. Then he showed them to the others, his 
tone entirely changed. 

“Don’t it beat all how things happen?” he said 
genially. “Look, mates! The young gal’s right. 
Here’s the spots just as she said.” 

The men hung back with more than a little reserve 
in their manner, and Yerber turned to the Carters, 
holding out the gloves with an air of bluff frankness. 
“You must take these, Missy, and give ’em to your 
pa with my best regards. Yerba Buena Cy don’t 
want nobody else’s property. That’s one thing 
sure !” 

“Then you know my father and got the gloves 
from him?” Diantha asked, still fixing him with her 
steady gaze. 

“Lor’ love you, no,” Yerber answered. “I bought 
’em off a greaser for two ounces. They was fine 
lookin’ gloves. I was cornin’ back rich by way of 
the Isthmus and aimin’ to make a show. But the 
card-sharps cleaned me out on the run home, so I’ve 
got to start right over again. Anyway, you take 
’em, Missy. I’m pleased to hand ’em back to you.” 

Although unsatisfied Diantha accepted the gloves. 

“Then you don’t know my father?” she questioned 
slowly. 


The Bidwell’s Bar Express 37 

“No, Missy, least ways, what did you say his 
name was, Carman?” 

“No. Carter. Charles Carter Carter.” 

Yerber shook his head. 

“Never heard the name before. Not that I re- 
member, and I’ve a good memory for names, too. 
Now how do you suppose that Mexican got those 
gloves? Of course it ain’t in nature to believe that 
a greaser came by anything honest; but your pa 
might just have happened to sell ’em to him, mightn’t 
he?” 

“No,” Mrs. Carter declared positively. “He 
wouldn’t sell a thing his daughter had worked for 
him.” 

“Most like the Mex stole ’em,” Yerber agreed. 

“Where did you say you met this Mexican?” Mrs. 
Carter now asked. 

“Oh, I met up with him at Sutter’s. That’s a mile 
or two from Sacramento City,” Yerber answered 
readily. “There’s a sort of Greaser-town down the 
river a piece; but I wouldn’t know him again if I 
fell over him. All these Span-i-ards look alike to 
me. 

He took out his biscuits and shut his wagon-box 
with a bang. 

“It’s time I had my supper,” he said with an air of 
finality. 

“And you positively refuse to let us join your 
train?” Mrs. Carter asked. 

“Can’t be did, lady,” he replied. “I’m captain 


38 


Diantha’s Quest 


of this party, and every wagon in it has been picked 
because it was light and fast and able to keep its 
own end up without askin’ favors. We aim to get to 
Californy and the diggin’s long before snowfall. 
I’ll take no one on as might hold us back.” He 
turned without further words and began the prepara- 
tion of his supper. 

Di laid a hand on her mother’s arm. 

“It’s not worth while, Mama,” she whispered. 
“Let us go.” 

The little crowd parted to allow them to pass. 
Now that the matter was settled the emigrants re- 
garded the Carters shyly. Everything seemed to be 
all right; the judgment of more than one man pres- 
ent coincided with their captain’s, yet they all felt 
sorry for the two and did not know how to put their 
sympathy into words. 

“Evenin’, ladies,” one or two of the men managed 
to murmur, but the girl and her mother scarcely 
heard them. 

That night, before she went to sleep, Di asked 
her mother a question. 

“Mama, did you believe what Captain Yerber 
said about papa’s gloves?” 

“I see no reason to doubt it,” Mrs. Carter 
answered. 

“Well,” returned Di, in a tone of deep conviction, 
“there may not be any reason in it, but I’m sure he’s 


The Bidwell’s Bar Express 


39 


not telling the truth. And what’s more, I think he 
knows more about papa than he’s willing to tell.” 

“You’re an imaginative child, Diantha. Suppose 
you go to sleep,” her mother replied. 

But Di, although she said nothing more just then, 
did not go to sleep for a long, long time. 


CHAPTER IV 


FAIRY GOD-MOTHERS 

T HE next day Sam Brand found Di seated 
upon a grassy bank overlooking the river. 
“What are you doin’?” he asked as he slid 
down on the sward beside her. “Drawin’ more 
maps?” 

“No,” said Di, “I’m just thinking. Puzzling and 
puzzling and not getting anywhere. I feel like the 
poor little girl in the fairy tale who was set a task 
that was too big for any mortal to accomplish.” She 
sighed deeply. “Oh, well, sooner or later my fairy 
god-mother will come to my aid.” 

“Do you mean to say you have a fairy god- 
mother?” Sam inquired not quite sure she was in 
earnest. 

Di nodded with dancing eyes. 

“I have, — five of them,” she said. “But, sad to 
say, the family carelessly forgot to invite one old 
fairy and that’s the reason I’m so small. Instead 
of giving me a nice present she was mortally offended 
and decreed that my hair should be red, that I 
should be as small as an elf and wander over the 
face of the earth all my days.” 

40 


Fairy God-Mothers 


41 


“But you did grow up,” Sam cut in. He felt 
obliged to preserve his sense of reality when he 
talked to this new found friend. 

“Oh, yes,” agreed Di, “but that was because one 
of my god-mothers had waited till the last to make 
me her present. She was afraid of what the bad 
fairy might wish for me, so after all the others had 
finished, she stepped forward and said: 

“ ‘Her hair shall be red, but it shall be the red of 
gold and every hair of it shall curl. She shall be as 
small as an elf until she is a year old, then if she 
strokes a black kitten having one green eye and one 
yellow eye, she will begin to grow. She shall wander 
on the face of the earth until she finds the wishing- 
well; but when she drinks of its waters she shall 
have her first wish, the spell shall be broken, and she 
shall find a home at last.’ ” 

“You don’t mean to say you believe all that?” 
Sam was now completely bewildered. 

“My father told it to me hundreds of times,” Di 
replied gravely. “I was never tired of hearing it. 
Beside, when I was over a year old and was begin- 
ning to walk around, I was still so little that they 
lost me in the garden among the rose bushes. They 
hunted and hunted and couldn’t find me, but at last 
I came back all by myself and you’ll never guess 
what I carried. A fat little black kitten.” 

“Oh well, they’s kittens everywhere,” Sam 
grunted. He was chewing a stalk of grass industri- 


42 


Diantha’s Quest 


ously and thought it manly to disguise his interest. 
“We was always drownin’ of ’em in Warsaw.” 

“Ouff!” Di shuddered, “I think that’s horrid! 
But anyhow this kitten wasn’t like other kittens. My 
father had hunted everywhere for a black kitten 
for me. He probably knew I’d’hate to be so small. 
But every kitten he found had a white breast or a 
white paws or a few white hairs somewhere, and 
none of them had different colored eyes.” 

“You mean you’d come back with a kitten with 
one green eye and one yeller eye? I never heard 
tell of such a thing.” Sam sat up straight in his 
astonishment and Di chuckled with delight. 

“Yes,” she said, gravely, “but I don’t think it 
was a real cat. I think it was a kobold sent by my 
fairy god-mother. At any rate it was never like 
other cats and at the end of seven years it disap- 
peared as mysteriously as it had come.” 

“Got shot for killin’ somebody’s chickens, most 
likely,” Sam grunted. 

“I don’t think so!” Di spoke positively. “Any- 
how from the time I found it I began to grow. 
Though I haven’t caught up yet with girls of my own 
age,” she ended with a sigh. 

“At all events you ain’t a wanderer on the face 
of the earth,” Sam suggested sceptically. 

“Indeed!” Diantha exclaimed. “Am I not? 
Listen. I was born in New Preston, Connecticut, at 
Grandma Kingsley’s. From there, when I was six 
months old, we went to Grandfather Carter’s planta- 


Fairy God-Mothers 


43 


tion, Eastover, in Henry County, Virginia. Then 
my father took us to Kentucky. Next we moved 
near Bryant’s Station. Then we went into Missouri 
to St Charles — ” 

“I come from Missouri, too,” Sam interrupted. 
“Warsaw, Benton County.” 

“We didn’t stay very long in St. Charles. It was 
too civilized for father who was always pushing 
out to the frontier,” Di went on, “so at last we went 
up the Gasconnade to start a lumber mill. They 
floated the lumber down on rafts, and father made 
a lot of money. But it wasn’t interesting. Just 
the same old thing every day. He sold it and took 
us out to Charaton and started off trapping. He 
likes that life. There’s some adventure in it.” 

“And now you live here?” said Sam. 

Di looked at him in surprise. 

“Now we don’t live anywhere,” she retorted. 
“You can’t call it living to be crowded into a wagon 
that smells like a country store, with coffee and 
bacon an'd blankets and flour and clothes and so 
many other things that you don’t have room -to -turn 
over in your sleep.” 

“Do you mean to say you’re jumping off from 
here? I thought you told me you were going to 
Fairy-land.” 

Di laughed a trifle ruefully. 

“I like my name for it better than yours,” she 
answered softly, “but we aren’t starting from here. 
Not yet, at all events. You see there *are only three 


44 


Diantha’s Quest 


of us. Mama and me, and Uncle Toby. You saw 
him the other day. And none of the trains are 
willing to take us, because we have no white man 
with us to protect us.” 

Sam emitted a long, low whistle. 

“I might have knowed it,” he exclaimed. “You 
belong to the ‘Angel Mules,’ and it was you faced 
Yerber down last night and made him give up your 
pa’s gloves! Why we ’most went with that outfit,” 
he went on. “Only my Dad he couldn’t stand Yer- 
ber nohow, so we drawed out. Dad allows that if 
they do reach the mines a month or so before we do, 
they won’t clean the hull place up in that time. 
There’ll be some pickin’s left for us.” The boy 
laughed comfortably. He shared the belief of all 
the early emigrants that the gold supply was inex- 
haustible. 

“I don’t like Mr. Yerber, — not because he didn’t 
take us with him,” Diantha was reasoning this out 
as she talked. “He had a duty to the rest of his 
party, I grant; but I don’t believe that was why he 
didn’t take us. And why did he give me those 
gloves if he meant to get them back again?” 

“Did he try to do that?” Sam’s tone was startled. 

“Yes,” Di nodded, “At least I think so. At any 
rate mama was asked to call and see the baby of a 
poor family who didn’t want to go to the expense 
of a doctor unless it really had cholera. It was 
dark and I wouldn’t let her cross the camp alone, 
and Uncle Toby wasn’t willing we should go without 


Fairy God-Mothers 


45 


him; so he took a lantern and we all went. When 
we came -back everything in the wagon was upside 
down; but not one thing was taken.” 

“What makes you thin-k it was someone after 
the gloves?” Sam asked. “They weren’t stolen, you 
say.” 

“No,” returned Diantha dryly, “I had them with 
me, that’s why.” 

Sam whistled thoughtfully. Whistling was always 
a great help to him. 

“Didn’t nobody see who meddled with your 
stores ?” he asked. 

“There’s a Conestoga wagon camped near us,” 
Di explained. “It’s packed so full of goods that the 
people live in tents. The woman told mama that 
she went outside after putting the children to bed 
and saw a tall man near our outfit. She called out 
to him that we had gone over to see the Cronin 
baby and he grunted something and walked off in 
that direction. She didn’t think anything more 
about it till she heard what had happened.” 

“Couldn’t she tell you what the man looked like?” 

“It was too dark. He went off in a hurry and 
stumbled over a tent rope of that party that call 
themselves the Blue Grass Boys.” 

“Maybe someone there saw him,” Sam suggested 
eagerly. 

“Maybe,” Di agreed, “but they all jumped off this 
morning, so we aren’t likely to find out.” 

“Oh, that ain’t no ways certain,” Sam said. “They 


46 


Dianfha’s Quest 


tell me that people are forever catching up an’ pass- 
ing each other on the road. If ever I meet up with 
that outfit I’ll ask ’em. The Blue Grass Boys,” he 
repeated the words several times to fix them in his 
memory. 

“I can’t see that it matters much,” said Di, “so 
long as no harm was done and nothing taken. Mama 
had a scare, though,” she added. ‘They’d upset 
her precious vinegar jug and she thought it had all 
been spilled and was about ready to cry.” 

“Is she that fond of vinegar?” Sam was puzzled. 

“She counts on it .to keep off scurvy, and mother is 
as wise as twenty doctors, so if you haven’t a jug 
of vinegar you’d better tell your father to buy one. 
You know we’ve months ahead of us without a 
chance to get green food. Fortunately Uncle Toby 
had driven the corncob stopper in so tight that none 
of ours was lost.” 

“How did your ma learn about doctorin’?” Sam 
asked, always curious to hear how anyone had 
acquired special knowledge. “I do’ know but may- 
be I’d like to be a doctor myself.” 

“She just seems to have an instinct for it,” Dian- 
tha answered, “and then, when I was very little, she 
lived for a while with Grandfather Carter in Vir- 
ginia. They have a great many slaves there, and 
of course they can’t call in a doctor every time one 
of them is lazy and claims to have ‘a misery’ to get 
out of working. So their mistress learns to tell if 
they are really sick or not and what to do for their 


Fairy God-Mothers 


47 


little ailments. Of course mother says she picked 
up what she knows from Grandmama Carter but I 
have my own opinion and so has Uncle Toby.” 
Diantha managed to look very mysterious as she 
ended abruptly. 

“Oh, go on,” said Sam, “tell me what you mean.” 

“Uncle Toby says that down on the plantation 
all the hands knew that they might fool ‘01’ Miss’ 
into thinkin’ they were sick once in a while but never 
‘Little Miss.’ That’s mama. ‘She done got a gif’/ 
Uncle Toby says. ‘We all knows it’. And,” added 
Di with a chuckle, “I know where the gift came 
from.” 

“Where?” asked Sam, open-mouthed. 

“From her fairy god-mother!” declared Di. 

“Does all your folks have fairy god-mothers?” 
the boy questioned a trifle enviously. 

“It’s my opinion that most people have them,” 
Di insisted stoutly. “Most everybody has some- 
thing that they do very, very well without any ef- 
fort on their part. That’s their gift from their 
fairy god-mother. Of course if you’re stupid and 
stubborn and won’t believe in fairies they don’t 
take the trouble to let you see them, and perhaps 
lose interest in you altogether; but that’s your own 
fault.” 

“I guess the fairies was all asleep when I was 
christened.” Sam whistled ruefully to himself, and 
Di laughed. 

“There was at least one of them awake!” she 


48 


Diantha’s Quest 


declared. “I never heard a boy who could whistle 
as you can. It’s like a mocking-bird, and certainly 
some good fairy bestowed that gift on you.” 

“Land’s sakes!” cried Sam, astonished. “You 
don’t mean to say you like to hear me whistlin’? 
Why I got more cuffs for that at the Huttons’ than 
for anything else. I try not to do it, but it comes 
so natural sometimes I just forget.” 

“Exactly!” said- Di complacently. “It’s a fairy 
gift. You just can’t help it, and if I were you, now 
that you’re away from the Huttons, I wouldn’t try.” 

The two sat silent for a while after this, the boy 
pleased and surprised, but too shy to try to express 
his pleasure. The girl, already forgetting Sam in 
the serious worriment their predicament occasioned. 
At last she heaved a long sigh and jumped to her 
feet. 

“This isn’t getting us a place in a wagon-train,” 
she said briskly. “And unless we can start in the 
next few days we might as well sell out and go back 
to Grandpapa’s -in Virginia, which would be a sad 
blow. For very many reasons it’s the last thing in 
the world Mama and I would do willingly. Indeed, 
rather than that, I’ll persuade her to go on alone. 
We ought to go, no matter what the danger.” 

She did not explain to Sam, that everyone in his 
family had disapproved when her father had left 
home and gone west taking Di and her mother, all 
predicting freely that he would only return with them 
to be a charge upon the estates when his thin purse 


Fairy God-Mothers 


49 


was exhausted. She did not tell him their urgent 
reasons for hastening to California, nor did she ex- 
plain that their money and supplies were both scanty, 
and, fortunately for her pride, Sam put his own 
interpretation upon her words. 

“It’s time we all was movin’,” he said. “We 
don’t none of us want to be caught this side of the 
mountains when snow flies.” 

“But the trouble is that no one will take two 
women !” Di burst out bitterly. 

The distress and anxiety in her voice gave Sam 
Brand his first hint of a new side to the character 
of this strange girl. He looked at her in surprise. 
Heretofore her mood had been gay and full of 
laughter. Most of her talk had been fanciful and 
unfamiliar to his ears. She had attracted him be- 
cause he had never come into contact with anyone 
who had seemed so little concerned with the every- 
day realities of life. 

Now she had suddenly shown him that she was 
deeply interested in the activities about them. Her 
outburst was plain evidence that she was as keenly 
desirous of starting for the promised land as he was. 
Here was no talk of fairies, but the frank statement 
of a difficulty that the boy understood perfectly. 

“There must be some outfit will take you along,” 
he said, encouragingly. 

“But there isn’t,” Di returned. “We’ve begged 
and pleaded with one leader after another; they’re 


50 Diantha’s Quest 

all afraid we’ll hold them back. Just because we’re 
women.” 

“There’s lots of women going,” Sam replied. 
“Look at that Tupper outfit. Five of ’em!” 

“But they have a man to look after them,” Di 
retorted, half angrily, half hopelessly. “We have 
Uncle Toby, only they don’t count him! But they 
shan’t keep us back,” she went on, her resentment 
growing. “We’ll get to California, if we have to go 
alone.” 

“You couldn’t start off by yourselves, not you two 
ladies!” Sam protested earnestly. 

“Why couldn’t we?” Diantha cried. “We have 
a good outfit. We have as much sense as a Mr. 
Yerber or a Mr. Cronin, haven’t we? We can put 
up with as many hardships as anyone. Why shouldn’t 
we go alone?” 

“I dunno,” the boy murmured a little bewildered. 
“It ain’t done, that’s all.” 

“Then it’s time it was done!” Di insisted vehe- 
mently, as she rose to her feet. “Nobody shall keep 
us back just because we haven’t a white man in our 
party!” 

Sam looked at her in astonishment as she stood 
for an instant gazing out to the west. The golden 
light of the after-glow shone upon her face and 
burnished her coppery hair. Her head was thrown 
a little back as if she challenged the boundless plain 
before her, and her small figure quivered with deter- 
mination. 


Fairy God-Mothers 


51 


“We must go ! We must go I” she murmured and 
then, without another word, as if indeed, she meant 
to start that very moment, Diantha Carter walked 
quickly away, leaving the boy gazing after her in 
wide-eyed wonder. 


CHAPTER V 


SAM ADOPTS A FAMILY 

A FTER Di had left him Sam Brand sat still, 
thoughtfully digging at the sandy soil with the 
toe of his boot. Finally he stretched out on 
his back with his hands behind his head looking up 
at the great white clouds that rolled across a sky of 
deepest blue. For some time he lay thus in silence 
but at last he began to whistle. Not any familiar 
tune, but a flood of musical notes such as a bird might 
pour forth. Indeed Diantha Carter had described 
the performance well when she said that it was like a 
mocking-bird. 

A man, letting his heavy frame down slowly on the 
grass beside the boy, brought the whistling to an 
abrupt conclusion. 

“You can keep right on, Sammy,” Sam Brand, 
Senior, remarked half apologetically, the apology 
being intended for his own parental weakness, “your 
noise don’t annoy me much.” 

“Do you know, Dad, someone told me today 
sh — they liked my whistlin’ — ” 

He was interrupted by a chuckle from his father. 
“Land sakes, Sammy!” Mr. Brand cried, “are 
52 


Sam Adopts a Family 


S3 


you as old as that? For it’s dollars to doughnuts 
‘sh-they’ wore a sun-bunnet.” 

“It wasn’t just a girl like Lize Hutton,” Sam 
said gravely, refusing to be disconcerted. “It was 
a lady. An educated one.” 

“You set great store by education, don’t you, Sam- 
my?” The man spoke with a sort of awe in his 
tone. 

“There’s such a lot to know, Dad,” the boy mur- 
mured. 

“Well,” his father continued, “readin’, ’rithme- 
tic, and a little writing is all the education I ever 
had or felt the need of.” 

“But there’s heaps of learnin’ beside that,” Sam 
insisted. “I dunno how much, but I ’low there’s 
things in books would surprise you.” 

“Maybe,” agreed the elder Brand complacently. 
“Maybe! I ain’t sot agin’ education; but readin’ 
the papers was allers enough for me. As for writin’, 
I can do my name as good as any man, with a flour- 
ish to the end of it like a school teacher. Fact is, 
Sammy, I allers ’lowed it looked right down ignor- 
ant to sign your papers with a cross. I ain’t learned, 
but I ain’t dumb neither.” 

“But Dad.” Sam sat up and looked earnestly into 
his father’s face. “There’s things that I never 
thought of.” 

“What kind of things?” his father demanded. 

“Oh, I dunno,” the boy replied after a long 
moment’s silence. His thoughts were still with 


54 


Diantha’s Quest 


Diantha Carter, but he hesitated to take his father 
into his confidence about her as yet. 

“Well, sonny,’’ Mr. Brand remarked slowly, “if 
so be we make our pile, I won’t lay nothin’ in your 
Way. I ’low you won’t look down on your old father 
because you happened to go to one of these here 
colledges and he didn’t.” 

“I ain’t never thought o’ a colledge!” Sam ex- 
claimed. “High school was what I was aimin’ at. 
A feller has to know a lot to go to colledge, Dad.” 

“I don’t see as you’re so thick-headed you can’t be 
learned!” The father bristled at the thought that 
this son of his, in whom he took an immense pride, 
could not hold his own with the best. “All you need 
is money to pay someone to teach you, and Sammy, 
my boy, we’re going to find that out there!” He 
threw his arm in a wide gesture toward the west, 
and for a moment or two they sat, each busy con- 
juring a picture of the riches that were to be theirs. 

“Dad,” Sam questioned eagerly, at length, “when 
do we jump off? I’m plumb anxious to get to work. 
I feel as if I’d go crazy sittin’ idle and thinkin’. 
that if I was only there in Californy I’d be shovelin’ 
up nuggets, fast as I could stoop over.” 

“It won’t come as easy as that, Sammy boy,” his 
father cautioned gravely. “We’ll have to sweat for 
what we get, I reckon ; but the gold is there and we 
won’t grudge the work to get it out. And I tell you 
another thing, sonny, we won’t throw it away as 
fellers like Yerber do.” 


55 


Sam Adopts a Family 

“Thow it away?” Sam repeated wonderingly. 

“Might as well,” replied his father. “Yerber 
made his strike out there, and what did he do with 
it? Gambled it away between the Golden Gate and 
Panama. What was left disappeared goin’ up to 
New York. He told me about it himself. Seemed 
kind o’ proud of it. He said the man who’d won 
his money staked him to this trip. Yerber naturally 
expected the feller w r ould want a share; but no, he 
said he’d win it all back next time before they got to 
Gatun, and I guess he will.” Mr. Brand shook his 
head in perplexity. “Beats me how a man can be 
such a fool!” he murmured. 

“Is that the reason you didn’t go in Yerber’s out- 
fit?” his son asked. 

“No,” was the slow answer. “Can’t say as it was 
exactly. Fact is I’ve been kind o’ kickin’ myself 
’cause I didn’t go with ’em, after swappin’ our ox- 
teams for horses jes’ so we might. We’d a-been 
twenty-five miles on our way if we had; but it seemed 
like I couldn’t stand Yerber nohow. Can’t give a 
name to why I couldn’t cotton to the man, but — well, 
he kind o’ stuck in my craw, Yerber did.” 

At that moment a hail interrupted this intimate 
conversation and one of the emigrants, a man named 
Tupper, came up to them. 

“You’re the feller I’m lookin’ for,” he announced 
to Mr. Brand. 

“Set down and tell me about it,” came the smiling 
invitation. 


56 


Diantha’s Quest 


Ain’t got time to set,” Tupper explained. “I was 
wonderin’ had you made any arrangements for 
company on the trail?” 

“Not yet,” said Brand shortly. 

“Well,” Tupper went on, “I’ve heard o’ quite a 
number o’ outfits that are kind o’ at loose ends, not 
quite knowin’ who to*tie up to, or perhaps not swift 
enough for the Bidwell’s Bar Express.” 

“There’s a good many wasn’t swift enough,” Mr. 
Brand remarked cautiously, “but I’ve been thinkin’ 
maybe Yerber has the right idee. It ain’t necessary 
that every outfit should be an express, but I ’low 
everybody in a party ought to be able for about 
the same speed. If one wagon lags behind, it stands 
to reason that the rest of the train has to hold back 
similar.” 

“Jes’ so,” Tupper agreed. “O’ course, once we’re 
started, we’re obliged to stand by each other and 
keep together. I ain’t much afraid of Indians 
raidin’ a big party, but I reckon there’s some bad 
ones would make short work of a lone wagon.” 

The boy, listening eagerly to this talk, turned 
sharply to Tupper. 

“Do you think there’s danger, real danger, I mean, 
of a lone outfit bein’ attacked by Injuns?’ 

“I don’t think it, I know it!” Tupper declared 
positively. “Why, no longer ago than yesterday, a 
pack train came through from the diggin’s what had 
been ambushed near the South Platte.” 

“I seen them fellers,” Mr. Brand put in. “They 


Sam Adopts a Family 


57 


was travelin’ fast and light. Kind o’ silent I 
thought they was.” 

“They said plenty about the Injuns,” Tupper 
went on, volubly. “Seems they was just ready to 
camp down for the night when they was attacked.” 

“What did they do?” asked Sam excitedly. 

“Well, they made their animals lie down in a 
ring,” Tupper explained, “and shot over ’em, as the 
Injuns rode circles about the camp. O’ course the 
savages didn’t have nothin’ to shoot with ’cept bows, 
but these strangers said you’d be surprised at the 
force of them arrows. One of ’em came right 
through a horse and nicked the feller behind it in 
the shoulder. Fact! He showed me the arrow.” 

“I’ve seen ’em send an arrer clean through a buf- 
falo down in Texas,” said Mr. Brand. “Indians is 
treacherous animals. If they think you’re weak 
and can’t put up no fight, why you ain’t got no show 
with ’em at all.” 

“Then nobody ought to take the trail alone, ought 
they?” Sam suggested anxiously. 

“Not if they calculates to get through alive,” Mr. 
Brand said, emphatically. “But there ain’t anybody 
fool enough to 'try.” 

“At any rate we’re wastin’ time now,” Mr. Tup- 
per interrupted reverting to the subject which had 
brought him there. “What I wanted to tell you was 
that I’m going to call a meetin’ tonight to arrange a 
party, and I’d be glad if you’d come.” 

“Sure, I’ll come,” said Mr. Brand jumping to his 


58 


Diantha’s Quest 


feet, “but there’s two or three men I’d like to have 
there, if you don’t mind.” 

“I’d be -pleased to see ’em,” Tupper replied 
readily. “I’d like to get as good an outfit travelin’ 
together as we can, and if you know o’ any able for 
it, why bring ’em along.” 

“I’ll go round ’em up now,” Mr. Brand replied 
and the men moved off together leaving Sam a prey 
to anxious thoughts. 

“Them two can’t go alone !” he murmured to him- 
self, and lay back on the grass to puzzle a way out 
of the difficulty. For a long time he remained mo- 
tionless and then, suddenly, he broke into a whistle 
with a note of joy and hope in it, as if he had found 
a solution of his problem. 

“What they need is a white man to look after 
their outfit,” he said aloud, as he jumped to his feet 
and started rapidly toward his own camping place. 

The meeting called that night by Tupper around 
his camp-fire progressed amicably to an agreement. 
All were ready to start and only awaited the op- 
portunity. An election was held and somewhat to 
his surprise Mr. Brand was made captain of the 
party, for the reason that, as there was no member 
with previous experience on the trail, it seemed best 
to select an old soldier to command them. 

Finally a list was made of the men present and 
their dependents, the idea being to put numbers in a 
hat and let each emigrant draw for the position of 


Sam Adopts a Family- 


59 


his outfit in the line, thus avoiding any contention 
that one was favored above another. 

When it came Captain Brand’s turn to declare the 
members of his party he said: 

“I got a wagon with four horses, and my boy 
Sammy’s got a mustang.” 

But Sam Brand, Junior had done considerable 
thinking after his father had left him on that grassy 
bank and now he spoke up manfully, just as if his 
heart was not beating to suffocation. 

“I’m on my lone, you know, Dad. I had ought 
to be entered that way.” 

“Why so you are, Sammy, so you are,” his father 
returned, puzzled and seeing no point in the boy’s 
contention; but it was not a matter for serious argu- 
ment and the name Sam Brand, Junior was entered 
on the lists. 

“An’ I got a party,” said young Sam, turning a 
little white. 

“You’ve got one right smart little pinto pony,” 
his father smiled, “if you call that a party.” 

“I got more than that,” said Sam, braving it out. 
“I got three fine mules, an’ a wagon, an’ a hired 
man to drive it — ” 

“You got a sun-stroke or something, Sammy!” 
exclaimed his father, not able to explain what he 
heard in any other way, and he added anxiously. 
“Where does it hurt you? Is it your head?” and 
ended with seeming irrelevance, “I always did allow 
that all this education was weakenin’.” 


60 


Diantha’s Quest 


“There ain’t nothing at all the matter with me, 
Dad,” said young Sam, brushing this paternal soli- 
citude aside. “IVe got just what I’m tellin’ you — 
an’ two ladies beside.” 

Naturally the effect of this announcement was not 
small. Everyone present felt the surprise of it and 
a moment of silence fell on the group which Sam 
was the first to break. 

“It’s a good outfit. It won’t hold nobody back,” 
he declared firmly. “An’ me and the man won’t 
have to ask no favors of nobody.” 

“Now listen here, sonny,” Mr. Tupper broke in 
upon him, “that’s all right enough; but we under- 
stood you and your father was alone. We don’t 
need any more women-folk!” 

“Perhaps you don’t,” said Sam, with a smile that 
he tried to suppress, for he knew that Tupper had 
a masterful wife and four hoydenish daughters, 
much sought after at the camp dances; “but you see 
I ain’t got no women-folks but these two, and I got 
as good a right to a family as any other man of the 
party.” 

“Well, I guess Captain Brand is the one to say 
if this wagon-train will take on new members or 
not,” Tupper muttered discomfited, for he had 
heard a little laugh go around the circle at Sam’s 
reply. 

Captain Brand nodded gravely and accepted the 
responsibility. 

“Whose outfit is this, Sammy and what do you 


61 


Sam Adopts a Family 

know about them?” he asked practically, his fears 
for his son’s sanity at an end. 

“It belongs to Mis’ Carter,” Sam replied. “You 
call it the Angel Mules.” 

“And who is the second lady?” Brand inquired 
with a twinkle in his eye, “Mis’ Carter’s mother?” 

Sam turned pink at this but held his ground. 

“It’s Mis’ Carter’s daughter,” he returned briefly. 

“And ‘sh — they’ want to go to California, do 
they?” 

“Now see here, Dad,” said Sam, “you quit your 
joshin’ and listen. These two’s got grit. They’re 
plannin’ to set out alone if they can’t sign up with 
some train, and I heard you ’low this mornin’ that 
that wasn’t safe.” 

“It ain’t,” Brand agreed. “Well, from what you 
say, Sammy, I guess there’s nothin’ for it but to 
take ’em on if they can keep up with us; but I got 
to satisfy myself they won’t hold the rest back. 
Those Angel Mules may just be fat and white and 
sleek. The kind of animals a lady likes to make 
pets of.” 

“They was good enough for the Bidwell’s Bar 
Express,” snapped Sam. “I guess they’ll be able to 
keep up with us,” He was decidedly touchy about 
the Angel Mules. 

“You-all can leave it to me,” Captain Brand said, 
turning to the other men. “I’ll look ’em over to- 
night before we turn in, meanwhile we’ll put the 
name in the hat with the others and Sammy can draw 


62 


Diantha’s Quest 


for ’em. If I don’t take ’em, no one will be a mite 
worse off. If I do — Well, I guess my son and me 
can look out for ’em.” 

“Captain,” a shy little man put up his hand like 
a schoolboy asking his teacher for permission to 
speak. 

“I’m listenin’, Cronin,” said Brand in surprise. 

“This Mis’ Carter,” said Cronin, “she’s a real 
lady, captain, like them up at the castle at home.” 

“You mean she’s Irish?” asked Brand, puzzled. 

“No, no, she’s not off the sod,” Cronin hastened 
to explain, “for all that, captain dear, she’s off the 
same piece with those ones. She’s used to lookin’ 
after people, and as for doctorin’, she’s as wise a 
one as ever I want. It’ll be awful handy to have her 
along for them as have childern.” 

“Is she the woman who cured your baby of 
cholera, Cronin?” one of the listeners asked curi- 
ously. 

“She’s the lady,” Cronin answered reprovingly. 
“Ain’t I after tellin’ you she isn’t one of us? What- 
ever brought her here alone I don’t know.” 

“The same thing that has brought the rest of 
us,” Tupper said. “Gold! I ain’t never heard that 
fine ladies scorned it. Well, Cap’n Brand, I don’t 
see that any of us has any call to object if you care 
to shoulder this outfit, so let’s draw and get to sleep. 
We’ve an early start ahead of us.” 

The hat was passed around the circle, Tupper, 
who drew first, getting the seventh place; and Sam, 


Sam Adopts a Family- 


63 


who drew third, bringing out number one for the 
Carters; then, their business concluded, the meeting 
adjourned without further ceremony. 

It was a beautiful star-lit night when the Brands, 
father and son, started out to find the outfit that 
Captain Brand had dubbed the Angel Mules because 
of the pure color of the animals Uncle Toby was so 
proud of. 

“You’ve sure took a great shine to these people, 
Sammy,” Brand said seriously, a remark which Sam 
did not resent as he had his father’s facetiousness. 

“I ain’t never seen but one of the ladies — the 
girl,” he explained. “She knows such a lot, Dad. 
She’s only about as big as a minute ; but it will take 
me years to learn the half of what she has packed 
inside her head. The thing that got me was the 
pluck of her, tryin’ to make her ma start off alone. 
She knew it was dangerous, because she said so; but 
she was set on goin’ just the same.” 

In the dark Captain Brand slowly wagged his 
head up and down in agreement. He, too, appre- 
ciated the daring of two ladies setting out on such a 
trip. 

“I hope we can take ’em with us,” he said. “If 
we can’t, Sammy, — if their outfit is just no use, I’ll 
try to make ’em see that they’d do no good to no 
one if they got stuck among the Indians or the Mor- 
mons.” His effort was to speak lightly and Sam 
strove to observe a semblance of indifference as he 
replied : 


64 


Diantha’s Quest 


“It’s a good outfit. I’ve heard plenty of people 
speak of it. Nobody misses them three cream- 
colored mules.” 

The camp in the river bottom was just like a 
number of others in the middle west where cara- 
vans assembled for the various trails. It never 
seemed to grow any smaller. Those who jumped 
off were at once replaced by others, hopefully look- 
ing forward to their chance to follow. There was 
every sort of vehicle pressed into service, as judg- 
ment or pocket-book dictated, from Conestoga 
wagons to country doctors’ “one hoss shays.” There 
were substantial tents and pitiful little spreads of 
canvas that would prove poor protection against 
wind or rain. Few of the emigrants were veteran 
campaigners, fewer still made any attempt to safe- 
guard their health. Many indeed were destined to 
leave their bones on the prairie without ever setting 
eyes on the land of gold, and much of the disease 
that attacked them was preventable; but ordinary 
precautions were too often forgotten in the mad rush 
to be first at the gold fields. 

The Brands were obliged to pass from one side 
to the other of this gathering and they had not pro- 
gressed far before Sam stopped his father with a 
hand on his arm. 

“We can’t go now,” he said. “It’s too late. 
Everybody is asleep.” He pointed in every direc- 
tion, and his father’s eye followed his wandering 
finger. Sure enough, the quick spurts of light that 


Sam Adopts a Family 


65 


indicated lanterns were no longer visible. Here and 
there was the red glow of embers from open fires 
where doubtless some old campaigners slept rolled 
in their blankets, but the camp as a whole was dark 
and silent. 

“We needn’t wake the ladies,” Brand returned. 
“Didn’t you say they had a hired man? A driver? 
We’ll find him. He can show me all I need to 
know.” 

So they continued on their way, careful not to 
trip over tent ropes or to run into sleeping animals, 
and at last emerged on the far side of the camp, 
where Captain Brand stopped, utterly at a loss. 

“This is where I thought their outfit was,” he 
muttered in a low tone. 

“I don’t know,” said Sam. “The only time I 
ever saw them mules was this mornin’. The old 
man was drivin’ ’em out to graze. I never saw the 
wagon at all.” 

“I’m quite sure it was here-about,” Captain Brand 
repeated. “Yes, it was a new white top, and it 
stood next to that green top with ‘Never Say Die’ 
printed on it in black.” He strode over toward the 
green top, intent upon identifying it by its motto, 
and, being less careful in his eagerness, he stumbled 
over a figure curled in a hollow in the ground. 

A querulous voice assailed him. 

“Now dod blast you,” it said, “ain’t this hull 
Indian nation big enough to walk over without 
steppin’ on the only part of it I’m lyin’ on? There 


66 Diantha’s Quest 

goes the first good night’s sleep I’ve had since the 
baby was born !” 

“Sorry,- friend,” said Captain Brand, “but I’m 
lookin’ for Mis’ Carter’s outfit. I thought it was 
located round here somewheres.” 

“So it is,” said the sleeper sitting up and rubbing 
his eyes. “The women-folk live in their wagon. 
They turned in hours ago, leastways their light went 
out before my wife’s did.” 

“Which is their wagon?” Brand asked. “I only 
want to talk to their hired man. No need to disturb 
the ladies.” 

“It’s right over there.” The man pointed to the 
left. “No, it ain’t neither! Funny how you get 
turned round sometimes.” 

He scrambled to his feet and took his bearings. 
Then he faced the Brands. “Dod bing it!” he said, 
“it’s gone !” 


CHAPTER VI 


UNCLE TOBY HAS A PLAN 

W HILE Di was talking to Sam Brand on the 
bank near the river, Uncle Toby was assisting 
Mrs. Carter to prepare the evening meal. In 
spite of the rough life they were leading, the old 
darky continued to wait upon the “ladies” with all 
the ceremony he could muster. 

“We all is still Carters, no matter how we is 
livin’,” he insisted, and had he been given his own 
way neither his mistress nor her daughter would 
have done a stroke of work. 

This emigrant experience with its primitive and 
rude mode of existence puzzled him. 

“I’s been born a gem’mans gem’man,” he would 
reiterate. “I ain’t no cook and I ain’t no coachman, 
but here I is fryin’ flap-jacks and drivin’ a spike’ 
team o’ white mules! What we all is cornin’ to I 
dunno.” 

He had been Charles Carter’s body-servant in 
the old days on the Virginia plantation and had fol- 
lowed his master’s fortunes devotedly ever since. 
And no greater proof could have been given of his 
trustworthiness than the fact that the faithful negro 
67 


68 


Diantha’s Quest 


was left behind to care for Mrs. Carter and her 
daughter whenever the wandering husband and 
father set out upon one of his trapping and explor- 
ing expeditions. 

But this did not prevent Uncle Toby from pro- 
testing on every occasion. 

“You-all might think I was an ol’ man, Marse 
Charles,” he would say. “What call has you to 
leave Uncle Toby behind wif the ladies? Who’s 
gwine to bring you your shavin’ water in the morn- 
in’s? Tha’s what I want to know. Who is gwine 
keep your things in order? I tell you p’intedly, sir, 
you ain’t no ways fittin’ to do it yourself. You-all 
is bound to come back in rags.” 

But in spite of his grumbling Uncle Toby stayed, 
and he was invaluable to Mrs. Carter. His de- 
votion to her interests was unflagging and, because 
he possessed a certain shrewd commonsense, his 
advice and opinions were of real value. He might 
complain that it was not “fittin’ ” for a Carter to 
submit to such privations as they were forced to 
face in the emigrant camp, but he knew why these 
privations were endured and was ready to bear his 
share of them with surprising fortitude. 

“What I’s pinin’ to know, li’l Miss,” he said to 
Mrs. Carter as he poked a slab of wood into the 
small sheet-iron stove, “is how long we is gwine to 
stay here?” 

“It doesn’t seem as if we would ever get away,” 
Mrs. Carter replied desperately. 


69 


Uncle Toby Has a Plan 

“But we is ’bliged to go,” the old negro insisted. 
“When us Carters set our hands to do a thing, there 
ain’t no turnin’ back. No, ma’am! We is jest 
’bliged to go to this ’here California.” 

They were still discussing the matter when Di- 
antha arrived, her face slightly flushed and a look 
of determination in her eyes. 

“Mama,” she burst out, “I can’t stand it any 
longer. We must start, or we’ll never get away.” 

‘But, my dear,” said Mrs. Carter, much dis- 
tressed, “what can we do if no one will take us?” 

“This here trail is free for all, li’l Miss,” Uncle 
Toby put in. “If there ain’t no party wantin’ us, 
why we all has gat to go by we’s lonesome. There’s 
no two ways about that!” 

“That’s just what I say, Uncle Toby,” Di ex- 
claimed vehemently. “It’s foolish to put it off a day 
longer. Let’s start at sunrise tomorrow.” 

“No, no!” cried Mrs. Carter in alarm. ‘I can’t 
take such a risk. Your father would never sanction 
it.” 

“Marse Charles hasn’t never held back ’count o’ 
risks” Uncle Toby looked cunningly from one to the 
other of his charges. “But I ain’t aimin’ to run you 
all into danger, if I can he’p it. I’s got a plan, — but 
you ladies is served. Eat your supper while it’s hot, 
and then I’ll tell you about it.” 

“Tell us while we eat,” Di insisted, eager to 
learn of any possible way to make the start. 

“Well, then,” said Uncle Toby, sinking his voice 


70 


Diantha’s Quest 


almost to a whisper. “There’s two ways it mought 
be done without what you might call much risk. 
We could wait till the next big train sets out and 
then trail along behin’ ’em, aimin’ never to let 
’em out of our sight; — but I never did like folks 
that tagged along where they wasn’t invited. No’m, 
I didn’t! An’ it ain’t no place for Carters to ride 
in the dust these here poor white trash stir up.” 

Uncle Toby was an aristocrat through and 
through, and had the southern house-servant’s con- 
tempt for the uneducated white. 

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Carter thoughtfully. 
“I don’t propose to let pride stand in the way of my 
reaching California. This plan is both feasible and 
safe. I wonder that I never thought of it before.” 

“I don’t care how we go so that we go!” Di 
declared. “It’s this waiting around doing nothing 
that I hate. We’re wasting time when time may be 
important.” 

“It is important, of course,” Mrs. Carter agreed. 
“But so is prudence important. It would serve no 
good purpose for us to run into danger we can 
avoid.” 

“I’s got another plan,” Uncle Toby interposed 
anxiously. “A plan what is a heap more suitabler 
for Carters, if you ask me, — and it’s just as safe. 
Yes, ma’am, it is so.” 

“Well, what is it, Uncle Toby?” Mrs. Carter in- 
quired. She was entirely used to the old man; but 
his exaggerated idea of the honor of the family he 


Uncle Toby Has a Plan 


71 


served and whose fortunes had fallen so low, never 
failed to touch her. 

“It’s like this,” Uncle Toby spoke earnestly, his 
expression of cunning deepening as he elaborated his 
scheme. “You know these here parties mos’ gen’- 
ally aim to start at sun-up. I aims to start before 
sun-up and if we keeps ahead of ’em all day they 
can’t ’cuse us of taggin’, can they?” 

“Uncle Toby, you certainly are clever!” cried Di, 
clapping her hands. “We’ll do it! The only thing 
we must be sure of is that we select a party that 
isn’t too swift for our mules.” 

“They ain’t no such party!” said Uncle Toby with 
pride. “Them mules is birds. They wants to fly! 
The trouble will be to hold ’em back so we don’t get 
too big a lead.” 

“Wait! Wait!” exclaimed Mrs. Carter. “The 
matter isn’t settled yet.” But Di jumped up and 
ran to her, throwing her arms round her impetu- 
ously. 

“It is, it is!” she exclaimed. “It’s nearly as safe 
as if we were really members of the party that 
follows us, and Mother dear, we must take some 
risk. Please, please consent.” 

Mrs. Carter, overborne by this rush of words, 
looked appealingly at Uncle Toby, but he nodded 
his head in agreement with Di. 

“Deed, lil’ Miss,” he said, “we ain’t got no more 
time to was’e projeckin’ around here. We got to 
get to California.” 


72 


Diantha’s Quest 


And as he set things to rights after their rather 
scanty meal they heard him singing in his soft old 
voice, “Yo ho and the way we go, a-diggin’ up the 
gold on the Sacramento !” 

Mrs. Carter and Di had decided to live in their 
wagon on the road. This cut down appreciably the 
amount of provisions they could carry, but saved 
the cost of a tent and the labor of erecting it every 
time they camped. Moreover they were protected 
from sudden storms as they would not have been 
in a tent and they had saved space by leaving behind 
many of the useless articles other emigrants clung 
to. Two such possessions however, Mrs. Carter 
refused to be deprived of. One was a clock which 
hung on the side of the wagon and which she wound 
faithfully each night. The other was the mouse- 
trap which she set just as faithfully. Di, watching 
her as she had nightly, was moved at last to ask why 
she did it. Her mother replied promptly: 

“Because I don’t like mice. Go to sleep, my 
dear,” and with that answer Di was forced to be 
content although she said to herself as she shut her 
eyes, “Anyhow, it sounds a lot more like a thing I’d 
do than like mama. She’s so reasonable.” 

After Diantha was asleep Mrs. Carter still sat 
writing in her journal by the light of the lantern. 
She had finished her entry for the day and closed the 
little book with a sigh, when she heard a soft 
whisper outside. 


Uncle Toby Has a Plan 73 

“Li’l Miss,” it said. “Can I speak to you, ma’am, 
please?” 

“Yes, Uncle Toby,” she answered, and blew out 
her lantern before slipping out of the wagon to 
join the old man. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” she asked. 

“I’ve been a-moochin’ around li’l Miss,” Uncle 
Toby returned. “There’s a real good party jumpin’ 
off tomorrow. Mis’ Cronin’ tol’ me they’re goin’ 
in it. Her husband is at the meetin’ tonight.” 

“The Cronins going!” Mrs. Carter seized on this 
point quickly. “I’ll walk over and see if they can’t 
arrange a place for — ” 

“It ain’t fittin’ for us Carters to be behold’n to 
no Cronin,” Uncle Toby interrupted severely. “And 
more’n that, it ain’t no manner of use! Cronin 
ain’t of no importance in this party, nohow.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” Mrs. Carter said posi- 
tively. “It is my duty to snatch at every straw.” 

“No’m,” said Uncle Toby. “No’m, not this time; 
’cause, ’sposin they says they won’t have us, then we 
can’t go at all. We want to do jest like we planned 
— slip on ahead. They’ll start at sun-up. We’ll 
start now!” 

Mrs. Carter considered this seriously for some 
time while Uncle Toby strove anxiously to read her 
face in the star-light. 

“You’re right,” she conceded at last “It is our 
only sure way, and we must go. We must go!” 
She pressed her hands together tightly till the 


74 


Diantha’s Quest 


knuckles showed white, but once her resolution was 
taken her voice did not falter. 

Her words of consent were all Uncle Toby was 
waiting for. 

“I done got the mules harnessed,” he said briskly. 
“If you jest sit on the box and hold the lines I’ll 
walk at Snowflake’s head and see she don’t act skit- 
tenish. I’m aimin’ to get out o’ camp quiet, without 
answerin’ a thousan’ questions.” 


CHAPTER VII 


ON THE TRAIL 

I T was broad day when Diantha awoke and at 
once the motion of the wagon gave her a hint 
of something strange. Pushing aside the back 
flap of the canvas covering she leaned out. 

Behind her were miles of unbroken prairie. The 
thronged camp had disappeared. No moving object 
was visible to her roving eye, that searched the hori- 
zon in all directions. 

“Uncle Toby!’* she called, a little bewildered. 
“What has happened?” 

“We’s done started for California, Miss Di,” he 
replied, with a chuckle. 

“But — but when?” she demanded. 

“Las’ night after you was asleep,” came the an- 
swer from the front of the wagon. 

“Oh!” murmured Di. 

For an instant there was a pang of disappoint- 
ment. She had been looking forward to the day 
when, amid the cheers and good wishes of those who 
were left in the camp, they would begin their jour- 
ney toward the land of the setting sun. But they 
had jumped off while she slept! Di had missed a 
thrill, but only for an instant did she feel regret. 

75 


76 


Diantrha’s Quest 


“Oh, Mama!” she cried, slipping back into the 
wagon, “we’ve really started!” 

“Yes, we’ve really started,” Mrs. Carter echoed, 
but the joy in her voice was tinged with anxiety and 
there was a fear in her heart that was to remain 
there for many a weary day. 

By the time Diantha was dressed the wagon had 
come to a halt. They were well out on the Ft. 
Kearney trail and would have pushed on a mile or 
more before stopping for breakfast had not Snow- 
flake, the lead mule, refused to ford a small stream 
that crossed their path. 

“This here animal’s havin’ a conniption, li’l 
Miss,” Uncle Toby called to Mrs. Carter. “What’s 
ailin’ the critter I dunno, but we-all might as well 
stop and have our breakfast right now.” 

Whatever Snowflake’s objections to crossing the 
stream might have been, the clean running water 
made a joyous appeal to Di. Here was a place 
where she might wash in comfort, and taking off her 
shoes and stockings she ran down the bank. 

But the instant she stepped into the creek her 
feet sank into the sand and a peculiar sucking feeling 
warned her of danger. In a momentary panic she 
seized hold of a cottonwood branch that overhung 
the ford and scrambled out. 

“It’s quicksand!” she called. 

Uncle Toby looking up from the fire he was 
building, shook his head solemnly. 


On the Trail 77 

“I done tol’ you that Snowflake was a wise liT 
mule,” he said. 

“The wagon would have gone in over the hubs 
and we’d never have gotten it out!” Di exclaimed, 
dismayed at the thought. 

“Not until someone had helped us,” her mother 
returned. “That’s one of the reasons I dreaded to 
come alone.” And she glanced back over the trail, 
hoping for the first sight of the wagon-train she had 
counted on to follow them. 

“Now don’t you-all worrit, li’l Miss,” Uncle Toby 
put in reassuringly. “We-all is gwine to fetch 
through all right. These here mules is worth two 
teams at pullin’, and another one for bein’ smart. 
There’s this Snowflake, she done knowed there was 
goblins in that bottom, waitin’ to catch hold o’ her 
heels. How, I dunno, — but she gwine to have 
some sugar for her ’telligence.” 

After breakfast Uncle Toby examined the ford 
carefully. He found the banks rather steep but 
noted also that there were traces of brush in the 
bed of the stream. 

“There’s been a-plenty o’ people in trouble here, 
I reckon,” he said as he came back to the wagon. 
“But we-all is gwine to get across if we’re kind o’ 
keerful and don’t waste no time.” 

All three of the little party started to collect brush- 
wood and under Uncle Toby’s direction laid it over 
the sand in the stream, weighted down here and 
there with stones to keep it from floating away. 


78 


Diantha’s Quest 


Then everything having been made ready, Uncle 
Toby took his seat on the wagon. 

“Come on, you Snowflake,” he called, cracking 
his long whip. “You’re gwine to get your sugar, 
but you-all is gwine to earn it first.” 

With a shout Uncle Toby urged his mules down 
the bank with a rush and up the other side so quickly 
that the stream had been forded ere the treacher- 
ous sand could halt their progress. Di and her 
mother, wading in the wake of the wagon, cheered 
happily and looked at each other with smiles of 
triumph. It seemed as if now the journey had really 
begun auspiciously. A difficulty had been met and 
overcome. It gave them courage and heartened 
them to face the miles and miles ahead. 

“I think, Mama,” Di said, as she looked back 
across the creek, “we ought to leave some warning 
to those behind us.” 

“It would be a friendly act,” Mrs. Carter agreed, 
“how can we manage it?” 

“If you’ll write ‘quicksand’ on a piece of paper,” 
Di suggested, “I’ll go back and put it up on a forked 
stick in the middle of the trail.” 

“I’ll print it,” her mother said, and, this done, Di 
set up the warning as she had proposed. 

“You know, Mama, that brush is already sucking 
down in the sand,” Di remarked as she regained 
Mrs. Carter’s side. “I’m glad we put up that sign. 
It will keep somebody out of trouble I hope.” 


On the Trail 


79 


This first day’s march was a pleasant one. A 
sense of elation made all three of the travelers glad. 
No longer were they waiting idly while their store 
of provision dwindled under their eyes. Each 
hour saw them miles nearer the goal of their desire. 
After weeks of heart-breaking delay they were at 
last well started and, while they knew that hard- 
ships were ahead of them, they had faith that in 
spite of difficulties and privations they would reach 
California sooner or later. Forgetting her anxiety, 
Mrs. Carter sang happily, and her little daughter 
joined her voice to the songs and made merry as 
they trudged along beside the wagon. 

Although Uncle Toby disapproved highly and re- 
iterated that it “weren’t fittin’ ”, Di and her mother 
had decided they would walk whenever the roads 
and weather permitted. They wished to save the 
mules all they could, realizing that once the mountain 
passes were reached their patient animals would 
have need of all their strength. It was no new 
thing to Mrs. Carter, this facing the unknown. Al- 
most all her married life she had followed her hus- 
band into uninhabited lands, and she had grown to 
love the freedom of the wild and open country. 
But with the experience of the past had come knowl- 
edge of the dangers that lurked on every hand, and 
she had done her best to guard against them. So 
although she sang merrily and perhaps for an hour 
or two put aside her anxieties, she looked back fre- 
quently, longing to catch sight of the cloud of dust 


80 


Diantha’s Quest 


that would tell her of the oncoming caravan she 
hoped was following. 

The afternoon was still young when Uncle Toby 
drew off to one side of the trail. 

“I ’low, li’l Miss, we-all will camp here for the 
night,” he said, and Mrs. Carter was glad to stop. 
At once Di and she set about preparing supper, while 
the old colored man attended to his mules; but by 
the time they had eaten their meal and put the camp 
to rights long shadows warned them of the approach- 
ing sunset. 

To the east no sign of travelers was visible. They 
seemed utterly alone, the center of an immense 
stretch of rolling plain covered with the green of 
early spring, and Mrs. Carter looked in vain for 
the company upon which she had so confidently 
counted. 

However, that first night passed without alarm 
and daylight brought renewed courage. All the 
rich land seemed so peaceful, the sun so warm and 
cheerful that they set off again with their vague fears 
quieted for 'the time being. Mrs. Carter told her- 
self that by afternoon, at the latest, they would 
surely find others upon the road to whom they might 
apply for help in an emergency. 

They made a goodly number of miles without 
mishap before Uncle Toby decided to halt for the 
noon rest. The mules were unharnessed and turned 
out to graze, while Di and Mrs. Carter went off in 
search of fire-wood, which was none too plentiful, 


On the Trail 


81 


the bushes and small trees having been stripped for 
some distance on both sides of the trail. Upon their 
return Mrs. Carter was overjoyed to find a string 
of pack horses and a half dozen or so of men sur- 
rounding their wagon. 

“Someone has caught up with us at last!” she ex- 
claimed thankfully, and went forward to welcome 
the newcomers, who greeted her with varying de- 
grees of embarrassment. 

“We just stepped over to see if we could buy 
some coffee,” one of the visitors explained awk- 
wardly. 

Mrs. Carter shook her head, puzzled. 

“I am sorry,” she said. “We carry barely sufficient 
for our own needs. I wish we could help you out, 
but it’s simply impossible.” As she spoke she was 
trying to account to herself for the packer’s predica- 
ment. Barely one day on the road and already 
short of necessaries ! How could people be so im- 
provident? 

The men turned away disappointed, and Mrs. 
Carter called after them half apologetically. 

“My daughter and I live in our wagon. That 
cuts down our space for supplies. I do hope you 
understand.” 

At her words one of the party faced toward her 
and replied. 

“There’s no hard feeling, ma’am. If you can’t 
spare it, you can’t. But it’s been a long time since 


82 


Diantha’s Quest 


we tasted coffee and what the old man is boiling there 
smells extra good to us.” 

“Didn’t you get all you wanted at St. Joseph?” 
asked Di, feeling that she must have an explanation 
of the seeming mystery. 

At her words the men all stopped in their tracks 
and looked at the girl in surprise. At last one of 
them spoke. 

“We’re going to St. Jo, not coming from there, 
young lady,” he replied. “We’re from Sacramento 
City and thereabouts.” 

Immediately their situation was perfectly ex- 
plained. It was natural enough that the end of a 
long journey should find them with depleted supplies, 
and Di promptly responded to this explanation. 

“Please, mother, let me give them my coffee?” she 
whispered, and Mrs. Carter called hospitably: 

“Come right back, but bring your own mugs. We 
haven’t enough of them to go around. My daughter 
and I will be only too glad to give you our coffee. It 
will do us no harm to go without it for once, so don’t 
say no.” 

The men accepted this invitation with gratitude, 
although politely protesting that the ladies should 
not deprive themselves entirely; but their apprecia- 
tion of the coffee was almost touching, and while 
they were drinking it their tongues were loosened 
and they drew a rather gloomy picture of the life 
in the diggings. They did not deny that there was 
gold to be found in California, but the work was 


On the Trail 


83 


hard, a man being obliged to stand most of the 
time waist-deep in the water from the snows, while 
if a strike was made one day as likely as not it would 
do no more than finance him till his next find. 

Then rough characters were creeping into the 
gold fields. It used to be that a man could go away 
from his cabin and leave all he had in dust and 
chispas (which was what they called nuggets) in 
plain view. Not so now-a-days. People hid what 
they had, or managed to send it in to town to the 
the bank or express company, and when a fellow 
made a strike he kept it to himself, in all probability, 
instead of inviting his chums in to locate near him 
and share his luck. 

No, the good old days were gone never to re- 
turn! You worked hard for what you got and 
earned it. That was the chorus to all their stories. 
But one of the men drew out a buck-skin bag and 
exhibited different kinds of gold to their admiring 
eyes. 

“These are nothing but samples,” he explained, 
“a knowing man can tell what section gold comes 
from just by glancing at it.” He pointed out the 
different colors in the nuggets; the grains of gold, 
the coarse flakes and the thin gold that was found 
lying like fern leaves or frost tracery when you had 
cleared away the red top-soil. 

Uncle Toby glanced over the visitor’s shoulder, 
vastly impressed by the display. 

“And has you brung back all them horses loaded 


84 


Diantha’s Quest 


up with gold?” he asked, looking at the pack-train 
with new interest. The men laughed heartily at this 
innocent idea. 

“Once in a while they send mule trains over the 
Isthmus with bullion,” one of them explained good- 
naturedly. “It’s in no danger, it’s such heavy stuff. 
No man could stagger far with one of the ingots. 
Two are a mule load. So you see it wouldn’t pay to 
pack it back over the plains. No, clothing and food 
are what our animals carry. We’ve come out to get 
some new-fangled machinery for picking up the fine 
gold with quick-silver. We’ve got to have it made 
and to carry it back over the Sierras before snow 
falls.” 

“Have you been in Southern California at all?” 
Mrs. Carter asked abruptly. 

“Just where do you mean?” the man inquired. 
“I was a volunteer in the Bear Flag Revolution, 
and I served under Fremont for a while; but it was 
so one-sided for a war I got it into my head that 
it was all over and quit before San Pascual, where 
I believe the Spanish put up the only fight of the 
campaign. Was it thereabout you had in mind?” 

“I meant the country around the Santa Catalina 
Mission,” Mrs. Carter said. “Didn’t traders and 
trappers who came by Santa Fe enter California 
there?” 

“Now you’ve got me guessing,” the man replied 
helplessly. “I came in clear up north by Monte 
Diablo. Do you aim to go south to settle?” 


On the Trail 


85 


“My husband is there,” Mrs. Carter said. “I 
thought it possible you had met him or heard of him. 
His name is Charles Carter.” 

“Charles Carter Carter,” Uncle Toby murmured 
reprovingly. 

“I don’t seem to recall the name and yet, I don’t 
know. Charles Carter? Charley Carter? It seems 
to me I have heard it and lately too.” But wrack 
his brains as he might no recollection came to the 
man. “It’s one of those things that slip into some 
pigeon-hole in your head and only crop out when 
you aren’t thinking of them,” he said. “I tell you 
what, Mrs. Carter, if we have luck we’ll overtake 
you before you get to the Sink of Mary’s River, and 
if this comes back to me I’ll write it down so it 
shan’t slip my memory again. Not that it’s likely 
to be of any importance,” he added, “but I know 
what store a lady sets by news of her husband.” 

Before these men went on they begged Mrs. Car- 
ter to accept a haunch of antelope, and advised her 
not to drive too far in advance of her party; for 
it never entered their heads that she was alone. 

“There are Indians only about six hours ride 
from here,” they explained. “This antelope ran to 
us and kept along by our horses today as if seeking 
protection. At first we were going to shoot it, but 
we put it off to see how long it would stay beside us. 
All of a sudden it dropped dead, and then we found 
that it had an arrow almost through it all the time. 
We waited for the Indians to come and claim it but 


86 


Diantha’s Quest 


none of them showed up. That s the thing that 
leads us to suspect that they are not friendly, or else 
are hunting off their own hunting grounds. 

Mrs. Carter thanked them for their advice. 

“We will lay off soon,” she said. “By tomorrow 
only too many people will have caught up with us. 
I’m thankful not to be obliged to breathe their dust 
today.” 

But in this she was mistaken. Again the sun rose 
and set on one lonely wagon-top on that great plain, 
still green with the first growth of early spring. 

In the morning Mrs. Carter held a consultation 
with Uncle Toby to determine whether to push on or 
not, and it was finally decided that it would be safe 
to go forward for three hours, as the Indians were 
reported six hours march distant. 

“It would probably be more than six hours as we 
go,” Di reminded her mother. “You know these men 
had no wagons. They could cover much more 
ground than we can.” 

It was this thought that persuaded Mrs. Carter 
to keep on for still another hour in the hope of find- 
ing a pleasanter place to camp, for it was her inten- 
tion to lay by there until other emigrants overtook 
them, even though it should be a matter of days. To 
be sure both she and Di were more or less broken in 
to the wilds. They had seen rattlesnakes before 
and had met Indians who came to trade their furs 
with Mr. Carter. Indeed it was her knowledge that 
her husband found that he could not trust all of the 


On the Trail 


87 


savages even when they appeared most friendly, 
that warned Mrs. Carter now not to go farther 
alone. 

They made their noon camp by a brook whose 
banks were lined with a scattering of willows and 
cottonwoods. Uncle Toby turned his mules out to 
graze, Mrs. Carter sat down to write in her diary 
and Di looked about for something to amuse her. 

A tiny beaten path that left the road at an angle 
attracted her and she wandered down it, expecting to 
find that it led to a well or spring. 

Instead she came to three unmarked graves and 
one with the tail-board of an emigrant wagon used 
as a head-stone. On it was roughly carved: 

Sophey Bessie Muttons 
Aged twelve years and nine months 
1848 

That was all. There was nothing to tell where 
this little victim of the trail had come from nor how 
she had met her death. 

Di, looking at the grave, suddenly felt very lonely. 

“Just my age,” she thought. “I never had a girl 
friend of my own age. I wish I’d known her.” 

She turned aside and gathered a bunch of wild 
flowers with which she decorated the little mound, 
then full of thoughts of this other child whose short 
term upon the earth had ended here, she continued 
to follow the path which now slanted back to join 
the trail again, making it plain that, when the grass 


88 


Diantha’s Quest 


was so young that the mounds were more easily 
distinguishable, curiosity had drawn enough travel- 
ers from the straight road to stamp down a path- 
way. 

She came out at a distance from the camp and was 
about to turn back when a cloud of dust toward the 
western horizon drew her attention. Shading her 
eyes with her hand she discovered a number of teams 
approaching rapidly, and ran to tell her mother the 
news. 

The new arrivals, when they drew up with a clat- 
ter beside the Carter outfit, proved to be soldiers 
from Ft. Kearney going into St. Joseph on business. 
Their young officer, a boy just out of West Point 
with no experience of the plains, scouted the idea 
that any Indians would venture to attack them east 
of Ft. Kearney, and with this backing Diantha, who 
always longed to be on the move, had little difficulty 
in persuading her mother to trail a little longer, 
although Uncle Toby shook a doubtful head over it. 

However on they went, over undulating fertile 
plains with many streams and much rich bottom- 
land. Had the emigrants who passed this way been 
in search of farms and homes they need have gone 
no farther. The land here was part of the Louis- 
iana Purchase and was destined before many years 
had passed to be made a territory and later a rich 
state of the Union. 

In all the hurrying throng who traveled west- 
ward, in the years 1849 and 1850, it is safe to say 


On the Trail 


89 


there were none who gave the future prosperity of 
the lands they traversed more than a passing 
thought. Their imaginations had been fired by tales 
of gold. Gold to be had for the trouble of picking 
it up. Gold in quantities they had never dreamed 
existed, and nothing less spectacular held any lure 
for them. In front of the Carters on the trail were 
many parties pressing forward with feverish haste. 
Behind them were yet more. In such numbers did 
they come that the later caravans may be said to 
have fairly stepped on each other’s heels, and the 
various large camps where the emigrants met to 
organize their travelling companies were soon so 
over-crowded that they became hotbeds of disease. 
Cholera, thereafter, in many cases dogging the trav- 
elers’ foot-steps until they reached the high altitude 
of the desert. But they counted this as nothing if 
only they might win through to the land of golden 
promise. 

It was the good fortune of the Carter party to be 
spared some of the worst discomforts of the crowded 
wagon-trains on these first days of their journey; 
but Mrs. Carter’s anxiety became acute when once 
more they made their camp for the night and waited, 
expecting to be overtaken, straining their ears to 
the East to hear — nothing! 

The wind dropped down at sunset and the whole 
plain seemed to flatten out under the changing light. 

Uncle Toby and Mrs. Carter, both with their 
minds and eyes on the back trail, were unconscious 


90 


Diantha’s Quest 


of the beauty of the setting sun. Di however appre- 
ciated it to the full and at last drew her mother’s 
attention to it. 

“Look!” she said, pointing, “See how strange the 
clouds are? With those little dark columns rising on 
each side to join the bigger ones overhead, it looks 
as though the sun were in a frame.” 

Uncle Toby cast one glance toward the west, then 
he emitted a little grunt and started out after his 
mules. 

“Looks like nothin’ but a thunder-storm,” he said, 
over his shoulder. “I’m goin’ to bring in them mules 
and tie ’em up to the wagon. I don’t want ’em 
r’arin’ over the face of creation if it comes on to 
blow.” That was all he said, but he did not deceive 
Mrs. Carter. She knew as well as he did that Di’s 
little dark columns were the smoke of signal fires, 
set alight by Indians. 


CHAPTER VIII 


INDIANS 

T HE Brands, father and son went back to their 
own outfit silently. There was nothing they 
could do but endeavor to get their own party 
started promptly in the hope that they would over- 
take the Carters. Mr. Brand found himself almost 
as much interested as his son in the two “plucky wom- 
en folk” as he mentally called them. He also appre- 
ciated better than the boy did the risks to which they 
were now exposed, and he meant to strain every 
nerve to reach them and take them under the pro- 
tection of his party. 

“Don’t worry, Sammy,” he said, “we’ll catch up 
to ’em.” 

And Sam, comforted, replied, “Sure, Dad,” as 
he rolled himself in his blanket and went to sleep. 

But luck seemed to be against them. The first 
delay was occasioned by Tupper who, according to 
his daughter Seraphy, “had been took bad in the 
night.” A doctor had been sent for from St. Jo 
and came in the ferry that crossed at eight-thirty, to 
pronounce Tupper’s complaint not cholera, as his 
family had feared, but too many baked beans and 
91 


92 


Diantha’s Quest 


dried apples. The invalid, heartened by this good 
news, declared himself ready to go on; but the start 
was not really made before ten, and by that time 
another wagon-train was ahead of them on the road. 

Then began a series of mishaps, none of them 
serious in themselves, yet all tending to retard the 
march so that their first night’s camp was made a 
distance to the east of the little stream where Di 
had left her sign-post. 

The next day a real accident occurred at this ford, 
for the party ahead of Captain Brand’s train, which 
had profited by the sign, had not been public-spirited 
enough to replace it. Cronin, who had drawn num- 
ber two, and therefore, in the absence of the Carters, 
held the head of the column, drove into the stream 
where his first wagon sank to its axles. One of his 
horses, a young and spirited beast, took alarm, 
plunging and kicking till it broke the traces and ran 
away, leaving the remaining animals unable so much 
as to stir the wagon, imbedded as it was in the sand. 
Help was promptly at hand, but it took eight double 
teams to pull the outfit on to firm ground. 

To Sam fell the congenial task of rounding up 
the runaway and heading him back to his duty, a 
business that Polka Dots and he accomplished to 
their mutual satisfaction. 

It was near to where the Carters had made their 
first night’s camp that the S. Brands, as the whole 
party came to be known on the trail, were met by 
the California pack-train, from whom Sam eagerly 


Indians 


93 


sought news of the Carters. What he learned did 
not reassure him; for the men had been impressed 
by the fact that the ladies were too far in advance 
of their companions, as they assumed the intervening 
party to be. Still the boy took some comfort out of 
the warning the packers had given them. Di and 
her mother knew that there were Indian bands in the 
neighborhood and had said that they would lay off 
till they were overtaken. Surely, he reasoned, such 
news should make them delay till someone passed 
them. 

Their second night’s camp was made in company 
with the party which had jumped off just ahead of 
them, whom they came up with not far from the 
spot where the Carters had met the pack-train. 
This was a noisy, merry camp. There was singing, 
and dancing with the prairie as a floor; but Captain 
Brand quietly circulated word among the drivers of 
his wagons that an early start must be made in order 
not to take the dust of the other party all day; and 
there were good-natured shouts of derision before 
sunrise next morning as their partners of the night 
before tumbled sleepily out of wagons and tents to 
reply to their parting jibes. 

“See you in Californy,” was the favorite valedic- 
tory, to which the retort usually was, “We’ll pass 
you at the next mud-hole.” 

But the S. Brand outfit was off and very jubilant at 
having already distanced one of their competitors. 

Sam, boy-like, was specially elated. 


94 


Diantha’s Quest 


“They’ll never catch us, will they, Dad?” The 
remark was in the nature of an assertion rather 
than a question but his father shook a wise head. 

“Can’t say, Sammy,” he returned. “We’re both 
of us in something of the same fix. We’re carrying 
too much weight, if you ask me. Sooner or later 
we will all have to throw over a pile o’ useless things 
to lighten the wagons. If I had my way it would 
be sooner, before we’ve tired the cattle out; but the 
day when you’ve passed someone on the road ain’t 
the time to suggest that.” 

“You don’t mean we could lighten up, Dad?” 
Sam’s tone was startled. “Why what have we got 
that we could do without?” 

“No one knows what he can do without till he 
has to,” Captain Brand returned. “Anyway, I sus- 
picion that the reason we don’t overtake that Angel 
Mule outfit is because they have a light wagon and a 
light load. I wish we hadn’t bought such a weight 
of supplies in St. Jo. It might be worth while, in the 
long run, to pay more for things further west.” 

The meeting with the soldiers did a great deal 
to reassure them as to the Carters’ safety, although 
at the same time it was evident that they had not 
kept to their intention as the Californians had under- 
stood it, for they were still considerably in the lead. 
However, interested as he now was in the race to 
overtake that lone white top, Captain Brand had his 
own party to consider first, and he made camp when 


Indians 


95 


his experience told him that their cattle had done 
all that it was wise they should do. 

“Dad,” said Sam, appealingly, sidling up to him 
after supper, “have you got any objections to my 
ridin’ on a piece? Polka Dots is as fresh as a daisy.” 

“There ain’t no way o’ tellin’ how far they are 
ahead, Sammy,” his father replied, not liking the 
idea. “As a matter of fact it’s too dark to see 
them unless they have a big fire. You’d better hold 
back till mornin’, then I won’t lay a feather in your 
way. You needn’t wait for us to break camp. You 
can start on the minute it begins to grow light.” 

Sam was forced to be content with this, but he 
stuffed some food in his pocket and rode out of camp 
before even his father had opened his eyes. 

It was great fun to be riding alone through the 
sweet cool air. Polka Dots seemed to enjoy the 
privilege as much as her master and exhibited many 
new airs and graces to his admiring eyes. 

The pleasure of showing his pet off to Diantha 
Carter was one of the things Sam was looking for- 
ward to and he pressed ahead eagerly until, on 
mounting a rise just as the sun rose behind him, his 
eyes lit on the lonely white-topped wagon that he 
had been searching for, with Uncle Toby’s little tent 
spread close to it. 

Another boy would have shouted. Sam, who had 
been whistling softly as he rode, burst into a joyous 
peal of melody that a lark might have envied and 
urged Polka Dots on. Then, of a sudden, he reined 


96 


Diantha’s Quest 


her back on her haunches and sat in the saddle, 
straining forward to make sure of what he saw. The 
trail at this point was well marked. It stretched 
toward the horizon like a new scratch on the face 
of the prairie, but what had caught Sam’s attention 
was not a party riding on the road. It was a scat- 
tering of moving dots spreading out as they came 
over the grass of the plains. 

His first thought was that it was game of some 
sort. Perhaps even buffalo — and he mourned that he 
had not brought a gun, thinking, boy-like, of the 
feather it would be in his cap if he killed the first 
buffalo. He examined his pistol, for he was 
equipped as were all the plainsmen with bowie knife 
and pistol, but he knew that a buffalo was hardly 
likely to be killed by a ball from it, unless by chance 
he was lucky enough to hit it in the eye. However, it 
would do no harm to let fly just once and he urged 
Polka Dots forward eagerly, only to pull up again 
within a few rods. The light was better now and 
he saw that the approaching spots were not buffalos 
but Indians who were all bearing down on that 
lonely wagon, where seemingly the occupants still 
slept. 

For an instant Sam’s heart seemed to stop beat- 
ing. The words of Tupper and his father to which 
he had listened a few nights before came surging 
into his mind. They had known it was unsafe for a 
lone outfit to take the trail. What chance had an 


Indians 


97 


old negro, a woman and one little girl against a 
dozen or more Indians? 

And what was the best thing to do? Sam’s first 
thought was to wheel around and ride back to the 
camp for help. That seemed the most sensible pro- 
cedure, but meanwhile Di and her mother would be 
left to the mercy of the savages. He calculated that 
the S. Brand camp was an hour’s ride behind him 
and the little party ahead might easily be wiped out 
in much less time than that. For him to return 
might be the most sensible thing, but Sam never 
even tightened rein on *the fast flying Polka Dots. 

And yet what could he, a boy of thirteen, do to 
protect the Carters? Well, at least he had a pistol 
and knew how to use it. If Uncle Toby could shoot, 
they might deiend the wagon, one at the front and 
one to the rear, with Di and her mother lying hid 
between them. At all events it was worth trying. 
There was just a chance that they might be able to 
hold off the redskins until the S. Brands reached the 
spot. 

But, on second thought, was there a chance? The 
more he considered it the more Sam doubted the 
feasibility of this plan. The leisurely progress of 
their caravan was too slow to afford much hope that 
it would arrive in time. If he could let the party 
know what was happening, if he could send word to 
his father that danger threatened, he knew well 
enough that a band of mounted men would spare 
neither their beasts nor themselves in hastening to 


98 


Diantha’s Quest 


the rescue. Yet how could he send them word unless 
he went back himself? 

He was still galloping forward when a plan came 
into his head and he reined in his little mustang 
sharply. His precious Polka Dots should be his 
messenger, if he could only make her understand. 

He dismounted quickly and turned the mare’s 
head to the east. Hurriedly taking off his red neck- 
erchief, he tied it to the saddle and looped the reins 
tightly over the bow. For a moment he stood 
smoothing the horse’s velvety nose, then, stepping 
back, he gave her a light slap on the flank with his 
open hand. 

“Take it to Dad, Dots,” he commanded, “Take 
it to Dad!” 

This was a new trick he had been teaching his 
clever little mustang and once or twice before she 
had done as he had ordered, but always the distance 
to be travelled had been short and Captain Brand 
had been in plain sight. It was almost too much to 
expect that it would succeed now. But, even if the 
little mare did not go all the way, if the caravan 
came up with her anywhere on the road it would be 
a warning to his father that all was not well ahead 
and he certainly would press forward with some of 
the other men to find out what had happened to his 
son. 

In this lay Sam’s hope, and he turned to walk 
toward the wagon in an easier frame of mind after 
he had seen Polka Dots take the back track at a 



HURRIEDLY HE TOOK OFF HIS RED NECKERCHIEF 
































































Indians 


99 


steadily increasing pace as if she knew her errand 
and appreciated the need for haste. 

But, once off the horse, Sam could no longer see 
the white wagon-top except on occasional small 
eminences, and it soon became apparent to him that, 
in that clear air, he had seriously under-estimated 
the distance that lay between him and it. However, 
he hurried on, determined to do his best to distance 
the Indians, if possible, but growing more anxi- 
ous with each minute that passed. 


CHAPTER IX 
“sixty dol!” 

M EANWHILE those in the lonely camp were 
not so unconscious of the approach of the 
redskins as Sam had supposed. Uncle Toby 
had carefully smothered his small fire with sand as 
soon as he had noticed the Indians’ smoke-signals the 
night before, and it was just possible that they might 
have escaped discovery had their canvas not been so 
new and white. As it was daybreak betrayed them 
to the Indians even as it had to Sam, and the savages 
lost no time in bearing down upon the camp which 
they reached some time before the boy came up to it. 

This was not a war party. The Pawnees were at 
peace with the whites, and these braves were on a 
hunt ; but they were never averse to taking any pick- 
ings that came their way, and certainly a lonely 
wagon held out hope of spoils; so they descended 
upon it with all speed and seemingly in great good 
humor. Their first object was to discover if the 
party were as weak as it looked. Single wagons had 
been known to have many men attached to them, but 
in such cases there were usually extra animals graz- 
ing near and the only profit to be made was by stam- 
100 


“Sitty Dol !” 101 

peding this herd after dusk and making off with as 
many as possible. 

Quick beady eyes scanned the earth around the 
camp for signs that white men had ridden out to hunt. 
All they detected were the hoof-prints of their own 
unshod ponies, and they began to grow bold even 
before they saw the old man and the white squaw 
whom they at first supposed to be the sole occupants 
of the camp. 

Mrs. Carter and Uncle Toby were going quietly 
about the preparation of breakfast when the Indians 
swept down upon them. The old colored man had 
advised his mistress of their approach some time 
before and they both knew that an appearance of un- 
concern was necessary if they were to avoid serious 
trouble. They knew also that to allow petty thiev- 
ery would not help them, so they divided their 
forces. Uncle Toby kept his eyes upon the mules 
and harness. Mrs. Carter stood guard over the 
cook-stove and supplies, while Di was posted inside 
the wagon to warn off marauders there. 

The first few minutes passed in an exchange of 
greetings, some demands for “sugee,” which were 
smilingly refused, as was the proffer of a poorly 
dressed doe-skin in trade. Meanwhile the braves 
were looking about, mumbling among themselves 
and perhaps determining upon their next move, 
when Sam Brand’s arrival created a diversion. 

The boy had made all possible haste; but when 
he discovered that the Indians were before him he 


102 


Dianth'a’s Quest 


deliberately lay down under ,a bush to cool off and 
readjust his plans. 

As things were now, with the Indians already in 
possession of the camp (for in Sam ? s mind there 
was no place for a friendly Indian), there was small 
chance that he and Uncle Toby could make a fort 
of the wagon, thus his going down there seemed a 
useless putting of his head in the lion’s mouth except 
for one thing. The Carters did not know that any 
help was to be expected, and it might be possible to 
keep the redskins in a good humor long enough to 
allow his father to come up, if they were advised 
that there was such a chance; so Sam jumped to his 
feet, brushed himself off with his hands and took up 
his march again. 

Very slowly he swaggered toward the camp, but 
so little did the savages concern themselves with 
foot-pass'engers that his proximity was unnoted until 
he burst into a perfect riot of whistling. This he 
did deliberately with the intention of warning Dian- 
tha who was approaching, and it had the desired 
effect for Di stuck a startled face out of the wagon 
and called out; 

“Mama, here’s Sam Brand! The whistling boy 
I told you about!” 

Immediately the Indians began grunting excitedly 
among themselves, pointing back along the trail, and 
those who had dismounted jumped qui'ckly on their 
ponies and, at a word from their chief, galloped 
away to the east. 


‘Sitty Dol! 


103 


“They’re going to look -the rest of your party 
over, Sam,” Mrs. Carter said. “I’m glad you’ve 
caught up to us at last.” 

“But we haven’t, ma’am,” Sam replied. “I’m 
a good hour ahead of our folks. I started afore 
sun-up.” 

“You mean you’re alone?” Di asked, from her 
place in the wagon. 

“Sure !” Sam returned, and quickly recounted the 
situation. “I tell you, ma’am,” he ended, address- 
ing Mrs. Carter, “I reckon we’d better organize our 
fort afore the savages come back,” and he rattled 
off his defensive plans while he fingered the pistol 
in his holster. 

But Mrs. Carter quieted his fears. 

“They’re not hostiles, Sam,” she explained. “I 
don’t think we shall have any trouble with them at 
all; but we mustn’t show that we’re afraid nor let 
them steal anything.” 

“Perhaps they won’t come back,” said Di, but 
she was mistaken. 

The Indians, having reached the summit of the 
hill overlooking the camp, halted their ponies and 
for a good five minutes stood motionless, outlined 
sharply against the bright blue sky, gazing to the 
east. Then, wheeling together as if drilled, they 
came racing back, evidently satisfied that Sam’s 
arrival was of no importance. Doubtless they as- 
sumed, when they saw no other outfit on the road, 
that the boy was also a member of the lone party. 


104 


Diantha’s Quest 


Mrs. Carter, with a word of warning to all, 
turned to her interrupted cooking as if nothing was 
wrong and awaited the arrival of the savages. 

Once more they surrounded the wagon, pointing 
out this and that to one another with unintelligible 
grunts. Di, pushing her head through the opening in 
the canvas at the back of the wagon to ask her 
mother a question, drew their attention, and the 
sight of the girl’s red hair, gilded by the sun, had 
an unexpected effect upon the Indians. One of them, 
evidently a chief, strode toward her and tou'ched a 
curl lightly with a tip of his finger. Di shrank back 
out of sight and the brave turned to Mrs. Carter. 

“Who belong?” he asked, laconically. 

Mrs. Carter scented danger but faced the savage 
with a smile. 

“Papoose belong to me,” she replied shortly, with 
an air of indifference. 

“Huh!” grunted the chief, and with a nod toward 
the wagon and one finger on his own lank locks to 
indicate his wish, spoke again. 

“Me buy!” 

Mrs. Carter shook her head. 

“You no sell papoose hair. Me no sell papoose 
hair.” 

“Me buy!” he repeated stolidly. “Ten dol!” 

“No sell,” Mrs. Carter replied calmly, busy at 
the stove. 

“Twenty dol !” the Indian persisted. “Twenty dol. 
One horse!” He held up a finger. 


“Sitty Dol!” 105 

“No need horse!” Mrs. Carter laughed. “Got 
plenty mules!” 

Once more the chief grunted and seemed to con- 
sider a moment before he made his next bid. 

“Thirty dol?” 

His persistence began to alarm Mrs. Carter, and 
to divert his mind from its purpose she lifted a 
flap-jack from her pan and held it out to him. 

“Hot,” she explained. “Look out!” 

No Indian ever refused food, least of all flap- 
jacks. They drifted into white camps, produced 
from under their blankets dirty lumps of dough to 
be cooked in the whites’ ovens, then silently drifted 
out again when their cooking was done, usually with 
any portable property they were able to annex. Mrs. 
Carter under ordinary circumstances would not have 
offered this brave her own food, but the circum- 
stances now were exceptional. He must be diverted 
if it were possible. 

Sam had slipped over to the wagon and taken a 
seat on the tail-board. 

“See here,” he said to Di, “do these Injuns under- 
stand English?” 

“You can’t ever tell,” she anwered. “Just when 
you don’t want them to, they understand every word. 
But you needn’t worry about these. They haven’t 
any war paint on. They’re good Indians.” 

“Good rattlesnakes!” Sam retorted sceptically. 
“They ain’t no such thing. Anyway I think your 
ma ought to let them know my dad’s cornin’.” 


106 


Diantha’s Quest 


“That won’t do any harm,” Di agreed, and 
pushed her head through the opening once more. 

At sight of her the chief gulped down a mouthful 
of hot flap-jack and turned eagerly to Mrs. Carter. 

“Thirty dol !” he grunted again. 

“Di,” Mrs. Carter called, glancing over her 
shoulder, “put on your sunbonnet and guard the 
front of the wagon. Sam can look after the back.” 

“I wonder what that’s for?” Di said with a laugh 
as she obeyed. 

“Thirty dol!” the Indian repeated. 

Mrs. Carter shook her head. His pertinacity 
was unmistakable. The matter was no longer the 
trivial if annoying affair she had first thought it. 
She began to be seriously worried. 

“How long will it be before your father can get 
here, Sam?” she asked the boy. 

“Maybe an hour, ma’am, if Dots went right 
through,” he replied. 

“Thirty-fi’ dol!” the chief persisted. His second 
glance at Diantha’s red-gold hair had made him 
more determined than ever. 

With slight hope in her heart, but ready to play a 
desperate game to save her daughter’s curls, Mrs. 
Carter changed her tactics. 

“Not enough! Thirty-five dollars! Huh!” She 
spoke as if the offer were too paltry for considera- 
tion; but at the same time she offered the chief 
another flap-jack. 

From now on she meant to make these choice 


Sitty Dol! 


107 


morsels smaller, to feed the man for as long a time 
as her batter held out, hoping that good fortune 
might bring the help of which she now realized the 
need. 

The other Indians who had crowded close in hope 
of a share in the feast stretched out their hands for 
the finished product, and Sam called out warningly. 

“Your batter won’t last if you try to feed ’em all. 
Better stuff the chief and tell him to make ’em 
behave.” 

This was good advice and Mrs. Carter took it 
at once. 

“These all big chiefs?” she demanded suddenly, 
and a word from their leader made the others fall 
back a pace or two. 

Slowly Mrs. Carter cooked flap-jacks, slowly the 
minutes dragged by. Once a blanket tugged by in- 
visible hands had to be pulled back into the wagon 
and a brave, not in the least out of countenance, rose 
from ‘the grass and stalked away. 

Twice Uncle Toby had reason to rebuke those 
who took too great an interest in the shining buckles 
of his harness; and the bargaining between Mrs. 
Carter and the savage continued until he made her 
the astounding offer, “Sitty dol !” 

Mrs. Carter trying to keep her eyes from betray- 
ing that she hoped for relief by the road, repeated 
mechanically, “Not enough!” 

Too well she realized upon W|hat a frail thread 
she had hung her hopes. No one was coming, no 


108 


Diantha’s Quest 


one! The horse had turned aside to graze. What 
horse wouldn’t when sent off riderless? 

“Sitty dol?” The chief’s tone was menacing and 
the flap-jack batter was almost gone. 

Despairingly Mrs. Carter made her cakes still 
smaller. If the worst came to the worst she would 
cut off Di’s curls and give them to the man ; but she 
was assured that if she acceded to his outrageous 
demands, he would know his power and follow it up. 

She had not answered his last offer and when the 
Pawnee had gulped down another cake he repeated 
it. 

“Sitty dol?” 

“No want to sell!” Mrs. Carter was scraping her 
bowl, almost at the end of her batter. 

“Sitty dol — or take !” the chief said meaningly, 
making a step toward the wagon. 

Mrs. Carter dexterously turned her last flap-jack 
and held it out to him; but his temper had changed 
and he was not to be diverted. 

“Take!” he repeated, moving forward. 

Diantha, inside the closed wagon, was unable to 
hear all that was going on, but Sam, seated on the 
tail-board, was perfectly aware of the nature of the 
controversy and knew that it would be best not to 
enrage the Indian, yet his hand went to his pistol. 
Then he took it away again; to kill the man would 
only bring the rest of the band upon them. There 
must be something better to do than that. He broke 


Sitty Dol! 


109 


off his careless whistling and turned to the Indian 
with an engaging grin. 

“Wait,” he said. “Maybe so I get it for you. 
What you give me, a horse?” he pointed to himself. 

In truth the Indian preferred to gain his end 
peacefully. To slay and scalp on the trail between 
Ft. Leavenworth and Ft. Kearney was almost cer- 
tain to bring down a swift vengeance. The offer he 
had made, enormous for an Indian, proved not only 
his wish for a peaceful settlement of his demands but 
also the intensity of his desire for possession. There 
was -no doubt that he meant to have the thing he 
had set his heart on, no matter what the price. Yet 
the intervention of this boy might save violence and 
the possibility of retribution to follow. He looked 
Sam over and took his measure. Then, with a 
grunt of satisfaction, held up one finger. 

“Horse !”*he said. 

“And sixty dollars for her?” Sam jerked his 
head in the direction of Mrs. Carter. 

The brave gave a short nod. 

“Let’s see the horse,” said Sam briskly. 

The chief turned and gave a command. As he 
did so Sam slipped his pistol out of its holster and 
leaned back into the wagon, holding it out to Di. 

“Defend yourself and your mother, if you have 
to,” he whispered, and slid down to the ground. 

Di, utterly astounded, for she had been kept busy 
by Indians at the front of the wagon and had missed 
most of what had gone on, saw Sam go up to a 


110 


Diantha’s Quest 


pony that was now led forward, examine its mouth 
and pass a hand down its legs. Then, after a further 
colloquy with the chief, he mounted it and rode to 
the top of the rise to the east. 

For a moment she thought she understood. Sam 
was deserting them. Well, she could hardly blame 
him for that. They had no claim upon him. 

Mrs. Carter too, saw the boy ride off. She, how- 
ever, counted him clever to have secured the horse, 
thinking that he hoped to get away upon it to sum- 
mon help and fearing only that, exasperated by his 
outwitting them, the Indians might take a summary 
vengeance upon those left behind. 

With this in her mind she joined Di in the wagon 
where the girl at once held out Sam’s pistol to her. 

“He left me this,” she said simply. 

“He probably thinks he can bring help,” her 
mother replied. “It remains to be seen if the Paw- 
nees follow him or attack us.” 

But even as she spoke Sam wheeled the mustang 
and came pelting back, while mother and daughter 
looked at each other, surprised anew. 

“They’re coming fast!” he shouted, as he reined 
the pony in on its haunches. “I saw their dust.” 
Then to the Indian, “Good pony! I like ! I go see !” 

Dismounting as he talked he ran over to the 
wagon. 

“They’ll be here in five or ten minutes,” he told 
them eagerly. “He’s offered me the pony to per- 
suade you, beside the sixty dollars.” 


“Sitty Dol!” 


Ill 


“What in the world have we that’s worth sixty 
dollars — except the mules, and they’re worth more,” 
cried Di. 

Sam and Mrs. Carter exchanged glances. 

“Couldn’t we all get in the wagon and hold them 
off for ten minutes?” the boy suggested, but Mrs. 
Carter negatived this at once. 

“They aren’t hostile yet,” she said, “they’re not 
painted for war; but if we don’t give the chief what 
he wants, I don’t know — I don’t know!” 

And as if to emphasize her fears, the Pawnee’s 
face appeared over Sam’s shoulder. 

“Sitty dol!” he said once more, “Or take!” and 
he reached a hand toward Di as if to snatch away the 
concealing sunbonnet. 


CHAPTER X 


THE GOLDEN FLEECE 

I NVOLUNTARILY the girl drew back, then she 
turned a startled and bewildered face to her 
mother. 

“What is it he wants,” she asked. “Me?” 

“No, no !” her mother answered, “only your hair, 
dear, that’s all.” 

But Di hardly waited for her to finish. 

“He’ll give sixty dollars and a pony for my hair?” 
she questioned incredulously. “Hurry, mother, and 
cut if off before he changes his mind.” She pulled 
off her sunbonnet as she spoke throwing forward her 
tawny mane and the Pawnee gave a grunt of satis- 
faction when he saw again this object of his admira- 
tion. Both Mrs. Carter and Sam protested, each 
after their own fashion. 

“ ’Tain’t fittin’ for a little lady to sell her hair to 
an old savage,” said Sam gruffly, to which Di made 
answer; 

“I’d rather sell it than have him scalp me and get 
it for nothing.” 

“Help will be here soon,” Sam urged, but in his 
heart he hardly dared hope that it would be soon 
enough. 


112 


The Golden Fleece 


113 


Mrs. Carter had spoken almost simultaneously 
with him, knowing well Di’s pride in her curls and 
how she would mourn their loss. 

“What would your father say if you sold your 
hair, Diantha? You, a Carter !” 

“Dearest, dearest, it will grow again,” Di urged, 
then she threw her arms about her mother’s neck and 
whispered in her ear, “Darling, we need the money 
so, and it’s such a little thing if it will help us to 
reach California.” Then aloud, “You both talk like 
Uncle Toby! Come, please cut if off, or I’ll do it 
myself and make an awful botch of it.” 

Convinced that Diantha was in earnest and was 
not to be deterred Sam turned to the Indian. 

“All right!” he said curtly. “But first let’s see 
your money!” 

This was quickly produced, the pony was turned 
over to Sam, and in almost less time than it takes 
to tell it Diantha was shorn of her crowning glory, 
her red curls, and her mother turned away to hide 
the tears that threatened to blind her eyes. 

The Pawnee, having obtained what he wanted, 
made off at once with his whole band and when 
Captain Brand and his party at last reached the 
lonely little camp the Indians were already growing 
small in the distance. 

“Guqss we scared your visitors away, ma’am,” 
Captain Brand suggested as he dismounted from 
Polka Dots beside the wagon. “Sammy, we’ve got 
to give it to you ! This here little mare of yours is 


114 


Diantha’s Quest 


the smartest pony that ever I see. She loped into 
camp and as good as told me you needed me.” 

“Isn’t she a darling!” cried Di, petting Dot’s vel- 
vet nose. Her shorn head was covered by her sun- 
bonnet, and in all the talk that followed no one 
seemed to think it necessary to tell their rescuers 
that, had it not been for her sacrifice, they might 
have arrived too late. 

“You’d better stop right here till the rest of the 
party come up,” Captain Brand said to Mrs. Carter. 
“It’s as good a place as any for our noon lay-off and 
we’ll all start on early this afternoon and make a 
long march of it.” 

“But I do not wish to be a burden to your cara- 
van,” Mrs. Carter began, when Brand interrupted 
her. 

“Hasn’t my boy told you ? We tried to locate you 
the night you jumped off, to look your mules over 
and make sure your outfit was all right; but if you 
could keep ahead of us for three days I ’low you 
ain’t goin’ to have much trouble keepin’ with us the 
rest of the way. Hey, Sammy,” Captain Brand 
called to his son, “ain’t you told these ladies how 
you kind of adopted ’em the other night?” 

Sam, very red at being thus publicly appealed to, 
murmured bashfully, 

“ ’Twasn’t nothin’ ! Will you quit you joshin’, 
Dad?” And finally Mr. Brand, discovering that 
Sam’s embarrassment was actually painful, explained 
to Mrs. Carter that through the boy’s intercession 


The Golden Fleece 


115 


they had been accepted as members of the S. Brand 
wagon-train. 

This was wonderful news for Mrs. Carter and 
she hastened to tell Uncle Toby that their troubles 
would be shared in the future. The old man, who 
had never faltered while the Indians were pester- 
ing him and meddling with everything they could 
lay their hands on, now came forward and stood 
twisting his hat in his hands, distinctly worried about 
something. 

“Please, li’l Miss,” he said, “I don’t think we can 
take on with this party. I don’t see how we can do 
it nohow.” 

“Why not, Uncle Toby?” Di asked, naturally sur- 
prised that he should not rejoice at the prospect. 

“I don’t see how we can do it nohow!” the old 
man repeated stubbornly. “Us Carters has got to be 
up front in any party. I done tol’ you that before. 
Now if we j’ines last we rides last and I don’t know 
what Master Charles’ is goin’ to say to me if I bring 
you tailin’ along that-a-way.” 

“You needn’t worry about that,” Mrs. Carter 
returned. “He will be grateful to have us taken 
care of. And we should be only too glad to have 
any place in the party to make any objection to it.” 

“But you go just where you’ve been all along, 
Mis’ Carter,” Sam said anxiously. “I drew number 
one for you.” 

“Only don’t make that number one so far ahead 


116 


Diantha’s Quest 


that we can’t see your dust next time,” Captain 
Brand suggested with a chuckle. 

Uncle Toby, appeased, turned back to his mules. 
Number one was, according to his reasoning, the 
only proper place for the Carters. They must lead. 
In recognition of the honor he proceeded -to give 
every buckle an extra rubbing and to groom his 
mules as if they were race horses. He appreciated 
the responsibilities of the position as well as its 
glories. 

Meanwhile Sam and Di, petting Polka Dots to 
her heart’s content, were joined by Mrs. Carter. 

“I want to see your clever horse, too, Sam,” she 
said, smilingly. “I wonder if it is going to be jeal- 
ous of your new mustang.” 

“Now Mis’ Carter!” cried Sam, flushing hotly, 
“that mustang ain’t mine. I only spoke that way to 
the Injun to gain a little time. I couldn’t take it 
nohow. It — it would be like blood money!” 

“I see how you feel!” Mrs. Carter nodded. “But 
I still think you should have a voice in the disposing 
of it. What would you like to have done with it?” 

Sam made a motion of his head toward Di. Some- 
how he was shy of speaking her name. 

“I’ve got Polka Dots,” he said briefly. “I 
thought she’d take the mustang. I could try it out 
with a blanket to see if it was scared of a skirt.” 

“It might be as well,” Mrs. Carter agreed, ac- 
cepting his suggestion at once, “although Di is used 
to riding all sorts of horses. And Sam, it will be a 


The Golden Fleece 


117 


great help to us to have this pony. The mules are 
strong, but we must save them all we can.” 

Seeing the boy’s embarrassment and inability to 
reply when thanked, Mrs. Carter turned away and 
left him with Di, who was regarding him smilingly. 
Then suddenly her expression changed. 

“I don’t think you ought to give me the pony, 
Sam,” she said miserably. “When you got on it and 
rode east I fancied you were deserting us, — leaving 
us at the mercy of the Indians. It was a mean thing 
to suspect and I am so ashamed.” 

“I suppose it did look like that,” Sam interrupted. 
“I never thought of that at the time. I just wanted 
to get on top of that butte to see if Dad wasn’t 
cornin’ up. ’Course, if I’d dipped out of sight, the 
whole band would have been after me lickity split, so 
I never would have dared to try to run away.” 

Di looked at him understandingly. 

“All the same that wasn’t what kept you from 
leaving us,” she said positively. “I’ll never mis- 
judge you again, Sam.” 

“Oh, well,” Sam declared, “there wasn’t any 
reason for me to go. Those Injuns weren’t on the 
war-path. Beside, wasn’t there your fairy grand- 
mother to count on? Only, for the life of me, I 
can’t see why she didn’t come along in time to save 
your hair.” 

“Godmother, Sam! Godmother!” Di said laugh- 
ing heartily. “Why, she was doing just wonders for 
me all the time. Certainly I was rather proud of 


118 


Diantha’s Quest 


them, but you’ve no idea what a bother my curls 
were; and I think if I’d had three wishes the second 
and third would have been for a horse and money.” 

“Of course I saw you were set on it or I never 
would have give’ up fighting for your hair.” 

“I was set on it,” Di agreed, “terribly set. But 
even if I hadn’t been I would probably have had to 
cut if off in the end. That Indian had made up his 
mind that he wanted it and he would have hung on 
our trail till he got it somehow or other, I’m sure 
of that. Now we’re rid of him for good and all; 
but it’s rather turning things round, isn’t it, for 
Argonauts to lose the Golden Fleece?” She laughed 
at this fancy and Sam looked at her uncompre- 
hendingly. 

“What is ‘Argonauts’?” he asked. “I know that 
they call the gold-seekers that, because I read it in 
some of the papers, but it’s sort of a funny name, 
ain’t it?” 

“It’s Greek,” Di replied. “It’s taken from a sort 
of Greek fairy tale.” 

“Do you know it?” Sam asked, his eyes begin- 
ning to shine. “Can you talk Greek?” 

“No, indeed I can’t,” Di answered. “But these 
stories have been translated by people who can, and 
Papa loves them and has told them to me so often 
that I remember them pretty well. Shall I tell you 
this one?” 

“Oh, please,” returned Sam longingly. 

“Well, there was a Prince, called Jason, whose 


The Golden Fleece 


119 


father’s throne had been stolen from him, so the 
boy had to seek his own fortune. After many ad- 
ventures, which I won’t stop to tell you now, he 
came into his father’s lost kingdom, which was still 
ruled over by King Pelias, the man who had usurped 
the throne. Jason had dropped a sandal by the 
way and came into the King’s presence with one foot 
bare. 

“Now it had been foretold to King Pelias that 
he would be dethroned by a man with but one sandal, 
so when he saw Jason he knew that this must be 
the man and planned to rid himself of Jason by set- 
ting him an impossible task. This was to go in quest 
of the Golden Fleece. 

“Jason agreed to bring this to the King if in 
return he would then give him back the throne, and 
he had a boat made, a galley of fifty oars, with a 
figure-head carved out of a branch of the wonderful 
Talking Oak Tree, which gave him wise counsel. 
He called this galley the Argo. 

“Next he summoned the heroes of Greece to his 
aid, Hercules, Castor and Pollux, Theseus and 
Orpheus, and lots of others. And, after the most 
wonderful adventures, where they relieved the op- 
pressed and slew giants, Jason, helped by Medea, an 
enchantress, got the better of the brazen bulls and 
fiery dragon that guarded the Fleece for her father, 
King iEetes. He seized the Fleece and sailed safely 
away before King iEetes had a chance to burn the 
Argo as he had planned to do. And, because of the 


120 


Diantha’s Quest 


name of the boat, all those men who went to seek 
the Golden Fleece are known as Argonauts.” 

Di paused for breath. 

Sam had listened, almost afraid to move lest he 
should miss a word. 

“I see now,” he said slowly. “We’re Argo- 
nauts, too, because we’re after gold.” Then struck by 
a sudden thought. “Why don’t you call the mustang 
Argo? It would be a grand name for it.” 

“I was wondering what to call it,” Di said. 
“Argo it shall be.” She reached out a hand to the 
pony, which, unused to petting, at first threw up its 
head sharply, but soon discovered that no harm was 
meant and munched a bunch of grass held out to it. 

“Do all the different countries have fairy tales of 
their own?” Sam asked wistfully. “And can you 
read about ’em? I never saw many books except 
my school books,” he added. 

“Yes,” said Di, “I believe all countries have such 
stories, but most of the ones I know I learned 
from my father, not from books.” 

“Then they must be true,” Sam said positively. ‘ 
“People wouldn’t remember lies all these years.” 

“Let’s hobble the ponies and turn them out to 
graze,” Di suggested, with a sudden change of 
subject. “I’ll have to take care of Argo myself. 
Uncle Toby has enough to do with Salt and Sugar 
and Snowflake.” 

“I’ll help you,” said Sam. “I haven’t any work to 
speak of.” 


The Golden Fleece 


121 


“You’ll have to help me with something else too,” 
Di hinted mysteriously. “I want to find a wis'hing- 
well.” 

“A wishing-well?” Sam’s tone was incredulous but 
at once he altered it. He was ready to believe any- 
thing Diantha believed. “Is there such a thing?” 

“Yes,” Di declared, “there is I Don’t you re- 
member what the good fairy promised at my 
christening? But we’ve got to be very careful what 
we wish. A person may find himself in trouble, like 
the rich man and his wife in the story.” 

“How was that?” asked Sam, all eagerness at the 
suggestion of another tale. 

“Oh, once upon a time there were two brothers, 
one rich, one poor. A beggar walking by asked 
lodging from the rich man, who refused to open 
hrs door and take her in. But next day when he 
saw a pretty cottage where his brother’s wretched 
hovel had stood he went over and inquired how it 
came about and was told that a fairy they had 
sheltered had granted them three wishes. They had 
wished for good health, their daily food, and a 
clean, new cottage. 

“The rich brother told them what stupids he 
thought them not to wish for great wealth and a 
fine castle while they were about it. Then he had 
his horse saddled and rode off to catch up with the 
fairy. 

“He overtook her and made excuses for not let- 
ting her in the night before, vowing that he couldn’t 


122 


Diantha’s Quest 


find the key of the door; and at last, whether she 
believed him or not, she granted his wife and him 
three wishes, just as she had his brother and sister- 
in-law.” 

“I wouldn’t have given him a thing!” Sam broke 
in indignantly. 

“Fairies are very wise,” returned Di. “Perhaps 
she knew what use they would make of their wishes. 
At any rate, listen to the rest of the story!” 

“The man rode home in haste and boasted to 
his wife of his success. 

“ ‘But now,’ he said, ‘we must be very careful. We 
have only three wishes and we want to make sure 
that we get all we can out of them.’ 

“His wife began to complain that he hadn’t asked 
for a dozen wishes while he was about it, but he bade 
her be silent and go fetch him some lunch to his 
study where he was going to plan the whole matter. 
She came a few moments later with a tray which he 
looked at greatly dissatisfied, for he was a greedy 
person. 

“ ‘Is that all you’ve brought me ?’ he asked. ‘Why 
can’t I have some of that good bag-pudding we had 
for supper last night?’ 

“ ‘My dear,’ his wife told him, ‘the servants ate 
every scrap of it. Come, try this sausage.’ 

“ ‘I don’t want sausage !’ he interrupted. ‘What I 
want is cold bag-pudding. It is very hard when I 
am trying to think that I can’t have the sort of food 
I need.’ 


The Golden Fleece 123 

u ‘Well,’ said his wife, ‘I wish I had a bag-pudding 
a yard long for you.’ 

“Of course as the words left her mouth a most 
wonderful, big bag-pudding dropped down on the 
table in front of them. But at sight of it the man 
flew into a rage. 

“ ‘You stupid!’ he cried. ‘To waste one of our 
precious wishes! For my part I wish the pudding 
was stuck fast to your nose for your pains !’ ” 

“And it was, I bet!” cried Sam, roaring with 
laughter. 

“Yes,” said Diantha, “Then, seeing what he had 
done, the man tried to pacify his wife by telling her 
he was about to wish for the riches of an emperor 
and would then take her to the wisest doctor in the 
world to have her nose cut off, for he knew right 
well that the pudding would stick to it forever. 

“ ‘You can have an emerald nose, my dear, or a 
ruby one,’ he reminded her, but the woman would 
not listen to reason. 

“ ‘My own nose suits me,’ she said. ‘What good 
would a^ll the wealth you talk of be to me if I had 
to go through life without a nose or with a yard of 
pudding stuck to me? My wishes are as good as 
yours, and I wish, right now, that this pudding may 
fly out of the window where we will never see it 
again.’ 

“And, at her words, all they had left to remind 
them of the three fairy wishes was some broken 
glass and a big hole in their window panes.” 


124 


Diantha’s Quest 


“That was a fine story,” said Sam. “Are you 
sure there are such things now-a-days as wishing- 
wells?” 

“Yes,” answered Diantha, “there really are, and I 
feel sure we’ll find one if you’ll help me. Here 
comes the wagon-train.” 

Sure enough, the first teams were just driving 
over the brow of the little hill; but before they came 
up Di had time to add: 

“Remember we shall have to be very careful. 
We’ll only have one wish apiece at a wishing-well.” 

“I know what I want most,” Sam returned con- 
fidently. 

“And so do I,” declared Diantha, softly. 


CHAPTER XI 


LITTLE TIMMY CRONIN 

A MID a vast amount of shouting and noise the 
^S. Brand wagon-train came to a halt about 
the Carter outfit. There was an instant de- 
mand for an explanation of Polka Dots’ exploit, 
and at the first mention of Indians a volley of ex- 
cited questions filled the air. Sam found himself 
the center of an eager group of men and women who 
insisted upon minute details, and the boy soon 
became something of a hero, much to his embarrass- 
ment. 

Di, however, had been called away by an anxious- 
eyed woman who beckoned to her from the back of 
a wagon. 

“What is it, Mrs. Cronin?” the girl asked, noting 
the other’s distress. 

“Where’s your ma? I’m needin’ her sorely.” 
“Is it the baby?” 

“Aye, that it is!” Mrs. Cronin mourned. “He’s 
in knots with the pain all last night and this mornin’, 
and no one able to ease him. Fetch your ma, quick, 
dearie, for the love o’ Heaven. I’m fearin’ me 
little Timmy will pass away, and I have no help 
with him.” 


125 


126 


Diantha’s Quest 


‘Til get her at once,” Di answered as she started 
off. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Cronin, mama will 
know what to do,” and a few minutes later she was 
back with Mrs. Carter, who carried her precious 
medicine case. 

“Di,” she commanded after one look at the ail- 
ing infant, “run and bring our kettle of hot water 
at once. Hurry now!” 

The girl raced back to the wagon and grabbed 
the kettle off the stove from under Uncle Toby’s 
astonished eyes. 

“Land sakes, Miss Di, what is you-all doin’?” 
he cried in protest. “I’m gwine use that this minute. 
Hot water ain’t come by so easy here as it is in Henry 
County, Virginia.” 

“Mother wants it for a sick baby,” Di called back 
over her shoulder as she tore away. 

“If li’l Miss wants it for a person what is ailin’ ol’ 
Toby might jes’ as well save his bref,” he grumbled; 
but secretly he was enormously proud of his mis- 
tress’s skill in healing and declared upon many oc- 
casions that, if he had to choose between Mrs. Car- 
ter and a regular physician, in case he required medi- 
cal treatment, he would insist upon the former. “But 
I ain’t one of them shif’less, pinin’ kind o’ folks,” 
he would conclude with a touch of scorn in his voice. 

Luckily Mrs. Carter’s help came in the nick of 
time for the Cronin baby. Sam’s strategy In send- 
ing Polka Dots back, although it had not saved Di’s 
curls, did have the effect of hastening the caravan 


Little Timmy Cronin 


127 


to poor little Timmy’s benefit. Di pointed this out 
to Sam some time later and the fact made a decided 
impression on the boy. 

“It’s funny,” he said thoughtfully. “I wasn’t 
even thinking o’ Timmy Cronin! I ’low you can’t 
always tell what’s to come of somethin’ you kind o’ 
start goin’. I reckon, if Dots hadn’t gone back, the 
S. Brand outfit wouldn’t a-shown up here till a couple 
of hours later, and that might have been too late 
for the baby, you say. It certainly is funny how 
things turn out.” 

Although Mrs. Carter’s first patient was the most 
serious one and taxed her energy and skill to the ut- 
most, there were others in the train who suffered 
from small ailments and were glad of her advice and 
treatment. So, instead of getting back at once to 
her own wagon, she was stopped a number of times 
as she made her way through the camp, and it was 
almost time for the caravan to start on again when, 
tired and hungry, she at last reached her own white- 
topped home. 

“And how is the baby?” Di asked, as she and 
Uncle Toby busied themselves about the small table 
while Mrs. Carter ate her belated dinner. 

“He’s going to pull through,” was the cheering 
answer. “He won’t be left behind this time, but it is 
very fortunate I saw him when I did. It was a ques- 
tion of minutes, my dear.” 

“What is the matter with the poor little thing?” 

“Nothing except the awful food they give him,” 


128 


Diantha’s Quest 


Mrs. Carter explained. “After all I said to Mrs. 
Cronin in St. Joseph, what do you suppose she was 
giving that baby? Great lumps of fat, salt pork!” 

“Horrors !” exclaimed Di, with a shudder. “How 
do you suppose the other Cronin children lived to 
grow big?” 

“I don’t understand it,” her mother admitted. 
“It’s like some of the darky babies on the plantation 
who thrive in spite of everything. I remember one 
under six months old, fat and healthy whose mother 
told me she loved it so much she couldn’t deny it 
anything, so when she saw it was ‘jest a honin’ ’ for 
hot beaten biscuit and persimmons she fed it on 
them, and they seemed to agree with it perfectly. 
Mrs. Cronin’s excuse was that she couldn’t bear to 
see Timmy' a bag of bones, so she tried to get some 
fat into him.” 

“So long as they’re with us you’ll be able to keep 
an eye on things,” Di said practically, “but now 
you’re going to get in the wagon and lie down. Both 
Uncle Toby and I say so. The mules will have only 
half a day’s work, and I’m going to ride Argo. Sam 
says he’s perfectly safe.” 

“But you have no saddle, Di,” her mother pro- 
tested. 

“It’s late in the day to worry about that, mama 
dear,” Di laughed. “You know your daughter is 
the only red-headed Indian in existence.” 

Her words reminded her mother of the lost hair 
and she turned the conversation to that subject. 


Little Timmy Cronin 


129 


“Take off your sunbonnet and let me look at you. 
I can’t tell you how badly I felt when I cut off your 
curls.” 

“Please, please, don’t mourn over them,” Di 
urged. “I don’t intend to. Think how much the 
money means to us. Why, I would have given the 
Pawnee one of my fingers for sixty dollars, and even 
you couldn’t make that grow again ! As for the hair, 
it’s sort of stubby yet, but it will begin to curl in a 
day or so and Pm going to love it, it’s so cool and 
comfortable.” 

She took off her sunbonnet as she spoke and her 
mother looked at her a trifle sadly. 

“Has Uncle Toby seen you?” she asked appre- 
hensively, whereat Di chuckled. 

“No’m,” she said, “and he isn’t going to, yet 
awhile. He was on guard over the mules and he 
doesn’t know one thing about it. He’d be worse 
than you are, and he’d never get over reminding me 
that ‘it wasn’t fittin’ for us Cyarters to sell our 
cyurls !” 

Mrs. Carter smiled faintly at this imitation. 

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said, then adding, “I 
will lie down, I think,” she entered the wagon, and 
a few moments later Uncle Toby, radiating pride, 
made his first start at the head of the S. Brand 
caravan. 

Di and Sam rode at either side like out-riders but 
they soon grew tired of such close attendance on the 
wagons and took little excursions here and there 


130 


Diantha’s Quest 


over the plains. Argo was not, perhaps, the equal 
of Polka Dots in beauty and intelligence; but, as Di 
pointed out, he had lacked educational advantages 
and like most Indian ponies he was an easy-gaited 
little beast, so both boy and girl enjoyed themselves 
thoroughly and Sam soon grew to know Di well 
enough to call her by her name without shyness. 

“I found that word ‘Nautilus’ in my guide book,’' 
he told her, “but it doesn’t say anything about fairy 
boats. It’s just an insurance company.” 

“I want to see that book some time,” Di said, and 
Sam returned heartily: 

“Sure! After we make camp tonight. Perhaps 
we can locate just where we are. It’s the real Con- 
gresh’nal map, you know.” 

The party made a good march that afternoon 
and all began to feel themselves veterans of the 
trail. After supper while the light still lingered, 
Sam sought Di with his guide-book in his hand. They 
seated themselves side by side and pored over the 
map which he spread out. 

“We’ve come such a little way and we have so 
far to go yet,” Di said at last with a sigh, as she re- 
folded the map. 

“But we’re on the move,” Sam returned. “Don’t 
ever forget that. Dad doesn’t mean to waste no 
time — any time I mean,” he corrected himself. The 
boy’s ear was true and already he was refining his 
speech, taking Di for his model. “Wouldn’t you 
like to read this book straight through? I’ll lend 


Little Timmy Cronin 


131 


you a loan of it.” He held out the precious brown- 
paper covered pamphlet; but Di refused it with 
thanks, explaining that she thought it was more fun 
to go over it together. 

“Even the advertisements are kind of interestin’,” 
said Sam, flicking over the pages. “Look at this, 
for instance.” He pointed to the cut of a neat little 
cottage, complete to an awning over the door. 
“Doesn’t it beat all what people will think of? That’s 
a rust-proof, portable iron house, built to sort of 
fold up, I reckon, for the book says it won’t take up 
much room on ship board. What do you think of 
fellers buyin’ a house in New York to live in in 
Californy ?” 

“It seems mighty silly to me,” said Di frankly. 
“But I suppose people buy them or they wouldn’t be 
made.” 

“I reckon the reason for that is that they don’t 
want to waste time on felling logs and building, 
when they might be digging fortunes out of the 
ground,” Sam suggested. “Listen to what it says 
about that.” 

He began to turn the leaves again to find his place 
and Di seized the opportunity to ask: 

“Who wrote the book? Mr. J. E. Sherwood?” 

“No,” answered Sam seriously, “not all of it. He 
only printed it. What I’m going to read is a real 
letter to the War Department from — er — from — ” 
He found the place at last. “From R. B. Mason, 
Colonel First Dragoons, Commanding. He was the 


132 


Diantha’s Quest 


Governor of California,” the boy explained. “I 
know, ’cause it says so somewhere else. It tells all 
about how he rode to the mines last summer. In June 
everyone, almost, had gone from San Francisco, 
there were even two or three ships in the harbor 
without crews; and all the way *to Sutter’s Fort he 
found ‘mills idle, houses vacant, wheat fields open 
to cattle.’ ” 

“I think gold drives people crazy,” declared Di. 
“If I had a home of my own I wouldn’t run off and 
leave it for all the gold in the world.” 

“But you’re going a lot farther than these 
people,” Sam suggested, and. he remembered as well 
her eagerness to sell her curls; but he ‘had the deli- 
cacy not to mention that. 

“I’m going for something more precious than 
gold,” Di said dreamily. She was looking toward 
the west with eyes that seemed to see visions, but 
suddenly she shook herself like a wet puppy and 
brought herself back to earth. “ Go on about your 
Colonel Mason. I’m interested.” 

“I’ll skim through it and tell you what he says,” 
Sam suggested, a little shy at trying to read so much 
aloud. “They went twenty-five miles up the Ameri- 
can River to a place called the Mormon Diggin’s. 
He says, ‘the hillsides were thick with canvass tents 
and brush arbors.’ There was a store there and 
several boarding shanties. (Dad and I will like 
that. We hate to rustle our own grub.) It was ter- 
rible hot but two hundred men were washing gold 


Little Timmy Cronin 


133 


in the glare, some with pans, some with closely 
woven Indian baskets; but the greater number with 
‘a rude machine known as a cradle.’ Why do you 
suppose he called it that?” Sam broke off to ask. 

“A cradle?” Di was puzzled. 

“No, no,” said Sam. “That’s because it has rock- 
ers. I see that. ‘Rude’ is the word I’m bothered 
about. I thought it meant not mannerly.” 

“Oh,” said Di, “I understand. But I think he 
means a machine that isn’t very well made. Words 
do have two meanings sometimes.” 

“They hadn’t ought to,” Sam returned. “What’s 
the use of makin’ a puzzle out of what you say? But 
anyhow that’s the kind of a machine this was, and 
with four fellers to work it they made about four 
hundred dollars a day.” 

“Even at that rate it would take quite a time to 
make a large fortune,” Di said thoughtfully. “Does 
he give any more figures?” 

“Well, he talks of two men, who employed — ” the 
boy glanced at the book for confirmation, “four 
whites and a hundred Indians, and they took out 
seventeen thousand dollars in one week and cleared 
ten thousand.” 

Di gave a little gasp; but not as Sam supposed 
at the amount made. Instead she began to calculate. 

“If one hundred and four men cost seven thou- 
sand dollars a week how much does one man cost? 
It certainly sounds like an arithmetic lesson. But 


134 


Diantha’s Quest 


doesn’t it strike you that expenses must be very, very 
high?” 

“It kind of sounds that way,” Sam acknowledged, 
rubbing his head reflectively, “but Colonel Mason 
seem to think they find a lot of gold. Here he says, 
‘I could not have credited these reports had I not 
been shown the metal.’ And somewhere else he 
’lows, the gold seekers ‘have merely scratched the 
surface.’ And another place says, enough gold will 
be taken out ‘to pay for the Mexican war a hundred 
times over’.” 

Wait a minute,” said Di, as he turned the pages 
rapidly. “I want to read something myself.” 

Sam handed her the book and she searched 
through it diligently. 

“Here it is,” she said at last, finding a paragraph 
she had glimpsed as he turned. “He tells about a 
Mr. Sinclair whose rancho is three miles above Sut- 
ter’s. He employed fifty Indians and showed four- 
teen pounds of gold for a week’s work. So far he 
had taken out sixteen thousand dollars.” 

“That’s a heap of money,” said Sam. “It would 
pay for my education that I mean to have.” 

“Yes,” Di agreed, “I suppose it would, but from 
May first to July tenth Brannan’s store at Sutter’s 
Fort took in thirty-six thousand dollars for goods 
they sold the miners.” 

“What of it?” Sam protested. “It wasn’t one 
outfit that paid all that in. I suppose it’s kind of 


Little Timmy Cronin 135 

expensive to live, but everyone is sure to have lots 
left.” 

“That wasn’t just what I was thinking,” explained 
Di. “My idea was that a store is more of a gold 
mine than a gold mine is.” 

For a moment Sam seemed bewildered by her 
words and kept repeating them, parrot-like. 

“ ‘A store is more of a gold mine than a gold mine 
is’ !” Then, as the logic of her reasoning came home 
to him, he began to combat it. Not to keep a store 
had he taken this long journey. He wished more 
spirited adventure to spice his undertaking. 

“Oh, well,” he said, “I’d liefer dig my own gold, 
and ’sides,” he added as an afterthought, “that 
thirty-six thousand dollars wasn’t clear profit. That 
man Brannan paid something for the goods.” 

Di acquiesced in this, but she was still thought- 
ful. It had become clear to her that there must 
be a great deal of labor involved in getting out the 
gold, for in all of the cases where large amounts were 
mentioned many helpers had been hired. But the 
Brands were men-folk and could take care of them- 
selves. If things were as this army officer’s report 
led her to believe they would find it out soon enough. 
She skimmed through his letter again and found 
nothing in it to indicate that he did not think the 
returns fabulous and the gold inexhaustible. Still 
she shook a wise little head. Her New England 
inheritance perhaps was speaking to her. 

“Here’s something interesting!” she said sudden- 


136 


Diantha’s Quest 


ly, looking up. “Did you read it? How Mr. 
Marshall discovered gold?” 

“You mean at the sawmill he was building for 
Captain Sutter?” Sam asked. “I remember some- 
thing about it. He and Sutter agreed to keep it se- 
cret till the workmen finished his grist mill, too; but 
the news got out and spread like magic.” 

“I think their finding the gold was more like 
magic,” Di suggested. “If they had gotten all the 
water they needed in the race, it might have 
remained undiscovered to this day. But they didn’t, 
and, to save labor in widening the race and to make 
it deeper as well, they turned the full force of the 
stream into it. Of course this washed a lot of mud 
and sand to the foot of it, which was full of shin- 
ing specks of gold — ” 

“Miss Di, you is the beatinest child for gettin’ 
lost ! Li’l Miss gwine to have a conniption this time, 
sure.” 

It was Uncle Toby, and Di scrambled to her feet 
hurriedly, giving Sam back his book. 

“It’s getting too dark to read,” she said. “Good- 
night, Sam. I’ll see you in the morning. There’s a 
queer, queer picture in there. I had a glimpse of 
it just now, and I’m crazy to know about it. Come 
on, Uncle Toby. Of course mama isn’t having a 
conniption; but if she wants me — ” Her voice 
trailed off in the distance, and Sam stretched out on 
the turf, his precious book in his hand, whistling a 
soft serenade to the evening star. 


CHAPTER XII 


BUFFALO 

E ARLY next morning the S. Brand wagon- 
train took up its leisurely march across the 
fertile plains. At mid-day it rested and then 
went on again until Captain Brand called a halt for 
the night. So day followed day in an orderly rou- 
tine, the distance covered depending upon the condi- 
tion of the road they traveled, the abundance of food 
for their cattle and the delays incident to the vari- 
ous accidents to their equipment. 

The monotony of their lives made even small 
events seem important. A night when a storm blew 
down all the tents, and soaked those who slept on 
the ground; a forenoon when eight rattlesnakes were 
killed; or the camp where both men and animals 
were attacked by swarms of mosquitoes so dense that 
existence was possible only in the smoke of smudge 
fires — all these happenings were dated from for a 
while and then forgotten. 

As a whole the party was a reasonable and con- 
tented one. There was little bickering and discon- 
tent, which was due in large measure to the good- 
natured firmness of Mr. Brand. He felt his respon- 
sibilities and took his duties seriously. He was in- 
137 


138 


Diantha’s Quest 


dined to laugh and make light of threatened dangers, 
but never neglected to take the precautions neces- 
sary to avert them. Without assuming any hint of 
arrogance he nevertheless insisted that, so long as he 
was the leader, the others must follow; and those 
who elected him quickly came to realize that their 
choice had been a wise one. 

In addition to the endless talk of gold, Indians 
and buffalos constituted the chief topics of conversa- 
tion. The savages were feared, but the wild, shaggy 
cattle of the plains, about which many strange tales 
had reached their ears, were a curiosity, and the en- 
tire train was on the look-out to sight one of the im- 
mense herds which rumor numbered by the tens of 
thousands. 

So one day, when a cloud of dust rolled toward 
them from the east, the opinion of the camp was 
immediately divided as to the cause of it. 

“Buffalos at last!” cried some. 

“It’s Injuns !” others maintained, and they ran to 
Captain Brand for instructions. 

“Well,” he said, in his slow drawling way, “I’ve 
been a-lookin’ at that cloud o’ dust fer ten minutes, 
and I opine you is both wrong.” 

“It’s bound to be one or the other, Cap’n. All 
that dust!” they contended. 

“No, it ain’t,” Mr. Brand insisted good-humored- 
ly. “Neither buffalos nor Injuns ride the trail. It’s 
a big outfit cornin’ through in record time or I miss 
my guess.” 


Buffalo 


139 


“But we ain’t been laggin’,” Tupper maintained, 
and nods of approval from those about him showed 
that he voiced their feeling. 

“We’ve been doin’ fairly well,” Mr. Brand 
agreed, “but we don’t aim to be no express. We ain’t 
organized for it. We got away with a good start, 
but from now on we’ll have company. There’s out- 
fits cornin’ that will leave us like we was standin’ 
still.” 

These predictions proved entirely correct. An 
hour later fifty mule-teams rattled past, leaving their 
dust to choke the Angel Mules and to ruffle Uncle 
Toby’s temper almost to the bursting point. Before 
the day had ended two hundred horse-teams had also 
left them behind. And, crowning humiliation, at a 
point where the S. Brand had laid off for a day or 
two, thirty ox-teams lumbered by. 

Daily thereafter train upon train pushed ahead 
of them, greatly to the annoyance of Sam and many 
of the younger men. 

“There won’t be much gold left for us,” they mur- 
mured, but their captain refused to be hurried. 

“Don’t you worry,” he repeated again and again 
every day. “We’ll get there. Safe and sure’s my 
motter, and a live snail is better than a dead ante- 
lope. We ain’t no Bidwell’s Bar Express, but all the 
same we’ll be passin’ some of these here fellers that 
is passin’ us afore a great while. As for the gold — 
There’ll be enough for all hands.” 

But the increasing number of emigrant trains 


140 


Diantha’s Quest 


moving ahead of them did have its effect in more 
ways than one. Fire wood practically, disappeared. 
At best the natural growth was small and these 
hordes of gold hunters swept the plains bare for 
miles on either side of the trail like an army of 
locusts. For many days dried grass and buffalo 
chips were their only fuel. 

A yet more serious privation, of which fortunate- 
ly they had warning from a mule team traveling east, 
was caused by the burning of last year’s growth over 
a wide area between them and the River Platte. 

“We reckon it was done deliberate,” one of the 
drivers said. “They didn’t mean others to get 
through, if they could stop them. A crowd took the 
trail after them, but it was no good. That Bidwell’s 
Bar train had the heels of ’em and they gave up 
and came back. But it won’t be healthy for any of 
that outfit if they get caught.” 

This news reconciled many who had previously 
thought longingly of the Bidwell’s Bar Express. 
They were honest folk and had no wish to be mixed 
up with one who would be guilty of so dastardly a 
trick; for in their hearts, all of them held Yerber 
alone to blame for firing the grass. 

They cut fodder and fuel and carried it with them 
over the burned section, but neither they nor their 
cattle reached the Platte in as good condition as 
otherwise they would have done. 

They had been a month or more on the road 
when they trailed by Ft. Kearney where they learned 


Buffalo 


141 


that three thousand wagons had already passed that 
point. But from there they began to find increasing 
evidence that the pace was beginning to tell on those 
who were ahead of them. 

Two of the four Tupper girls, who had a pair 
of raw-boned horses which they took turns in rid- 
ing, came in with the first spoils. Di and Sam met 
them as they were hurrying back to the train and, 
although the day was blistering hot, Seraphy was 
arrayed in a heavy pelisse of puce velvet, while her 
sister proudly wore a beaver bonnet. They had 
found them abandoned beside the trail, together 
with an ox-yoke, two cook stoves and a considerable 
quantity of groceries which had been purposely 
rendered useless; for sand had been mixed with the 
sugar, turpentine poured on the flour and a large 
amount of good clothing had been deliberately torn 
to tatters. 

The Tupper girls gave these details excitedly. 

“It seemed like they didn’t want nobody to profit 
by what they’d left behind!” Melindy explained, 
“but when it come to spoilin’ this bunnet, the woman 
who owned it just couldn’t bring herself to do it.” 

“An’ I don’t blame her,” Seraphy said, stroking 
the velvet pelisse. “This here stuff is as soft as a 
horse’s nose. I never saw anything as rich, and I 
allow to take it to Californy if I have to throw 
everything else away.” 

“And then if you meet the girl it belongs to you 


142 


Diantha’s Quest 


could give it back,” Di suggested eagerly. “Wouldn’t 
that be fun? She’d be so surprised to see it.” 

“Give it back to her!” exclaimed Seraphy in 
wide-eyed amazement. “I don’t see myself doin’ no 
such thing! Findin’s is keepin’s! That’s law. 
There ain’t no call o’ my totin’ this all the way to 
Californy for a stranger. Beside, she throwed it 
away, didn’t she? And it suits me too, doesn’t it?” 

Di could find no ready answer to this and the girls 
rode off, somewhat offended. Sam who had been but 
little interested in this feminine finery, was somewhat 
puzzled at Di’s silence and glanced sidewise at her 
as they rode along together. 

“Say, Di,” he said, after a moment or two, 
“findin’s is keepin’s, ain’t it?” 

“I suppose so,” the girl answered slowly, “only 
— ” She stopped. It wasn’t easy to explain just 
what she had in mind. 

“Of course,” Sam went on, “it wasn’t like as if 
the people who owned these things had lost ’em 
accidental. They throwed them away deliberate.” 

“Yes, that’s true too,” Di replied thoughtfully, 
“but Sam, they were forced to leave them, you see. 
That makes a difference, doesn’t it?” 

“Somehow it seems to,” Sam agreed, a bit puz- 
zled. 

Again they rode on in silence for a time. 

“I tell you,” Sam said at length, as if he had come 
to a solution of something that had bothered him. 
“The Tupper girls don’t see that there’s anything 


















































“THERE’S INJUNS, TOO” 












Buffalo 


143 


wrong in keepin’ those things, and I guess they will. 
Now if you’d found ’em you’d think you ought to 
give ’em back. That’s the difference.” 

“But that doesn’t prove whether it’s right or 
wrong to keep them,” Di argued. 

“Yes, it does,” Sam maintained. “You think 
it would be wrong to keep ’em and it would be for 
you. But the Tupper girls think it would he right, 
so it would be for them. It’s all accordin’ to how 
you’re raised.” 

“Sam,” cried Di, “I believe you’re a philosopher 
or something like that. But really, you know, what 
I was thinking of most was how funny it would be 
if the Tuppers should meet the people who had left 
their finery behind. Can’t you just see their faces,” 
and she went off into a peal of laughter. In her 
imagination Di pictured the scene vividly and it 
amused her hugely. But Sam could not always 
follow these flights of hers and, moreover, he had 
begun to doubt for the first time in his life that 
“findin’s is keepin’s.” 

That same evening after the sun had set Sam 
was sitting beside the Carter outfit. He and Dian- 
tha were quietly talking over the day’s events when 
a red glare leaped up in the sky to the west of them. 

“Look!” cried the boy, as he sprang to his feet. 

“What is there to burn over there?” Di asked, 
beside him. 

“There’s a good many outfits ahead of us,” Sam 
replied, and then significantly, “there’s Injuns, too.” 


144 


Diantha’s Quest 


“Oh Sam!” exclaimed Di, “could it be that?” 

“Dunno,” the boy answered, “but I’m going to 
tell dad,” and he ran off. 

Others had seen the light by this time and there 
were many looking and pointing as Captain Brand 
came up. One glance was enough for him. 

The wagons were always set fencing in a sort of 
corral to which the mules and horses would stam- 
pede when frightened by coyotes, wolves, or sudden 
storms. Orders were now hurriedly given to collect 
the animals within this corral. Arms were looked 
to and guards were set; then they waited, but nothing 
happened. 

Finally Captain Brand suggested that all retire 
as usual. “It may be Injuns and it may not,” he said 
“At any rate I don’t believe they mean to bother us. 
We’ll keep watch all night and if they come we’ll 
give them a hot welcome. Meanwhile don’t lose any 
beauty sleep over it. We’re big enough to take care 
of ourselves.” 

This advice was sensible, and all but the guards 
turned in. 

The next day at dawn saw them on their way 
again, but it was not till nearly time for their noon 
lay-off that they came up to what had alarmed them 
the previous night. 

Brand at once -called a halt and went forward with 
a number of men to examine what they feared was 
the scene of an atrocity. 

Two wagons, burnt till little remained of them 


Buffalo 


145 


but the metal work, were the first things that caught 
the eye. Three dead horses and a dead cow were 
the next, but there were no people dead or wounded. 
The place was deserted. The emigrants looked at 
each other, white under their tan. 

“Took ’em prisoners or burned ’em, Captain,” 
one man whispered. 

“ ’Fraid so,” Brand agreed, stepping forward to 
look the dead animals over. Then, more swiftly, 
he cast his eye over the ground around, going from 
point to point hurriedly. 

At last he gave a shout of amusement and relief. 

“I guess the joke’s on us !” he cried with restored 
cheerfulness. “There ain’t been no Injuns here at 
all. These critters just up an’ died, and the party 
was forced to leave a wagon or two behind. Not 
being wishful to help those back of ’em, they set 
’em afire. That was what we saw last night. Their 
own little bonfire. I listened for shots and, when 
I didn’t hear ’em, I concluded either that the whites 
were all dead or that we was too far away for the 
sound to carry. In either case I knew we wasn’t 
near enough to help.” 

“We would a-looked fine, wouldn’t we,” Tupper 
chuckled. “S’posin’ it had been a little nearer and 
we’d rode over to act the rescuin’ heroes.” 

The men were all vastly relieved to find their ap- 
prehensions groundless; but soon the sight of valu- 
ables abandoned and destroyed became such a com- 
monplace of the trail that it excited little interest or 


146 


Diantha’s Quest 


comment. It was a curious fact that those who had 
no further use for the things themselves should be- 
grudge them to others. People seemed to go to con- 
siderable trouble to render what they left behind 
useless, but it would take many months of weary 
labor in the gold fields to replace the value of what 
w r as thrown away in crossing the continent. 

That night they came to a “real cold spring,” and 
it was decided to lay off again for a couple of days 
to rest the animals. The only objection to the camp 
was its lack of fuel, but even Uncle Toby had grown 
so accustomed to using buffalo chips by this time that 
he almost forgot to grumble about it. 

A day or two of rest was a welcome change for 
both Sam and Di. Bnt just what to do with a holi- 
day was a question, for they were not encouraged 
to wander too far from the camp. 

“Let’s go over on the butte,” Di suggested. “It’s 
not so far that mother will scold, but it’s far enough 
to get us away from the smell of smoke and cooking. 
And Sam, bring your book. There’s a funny picture 
in it that I’ve never forgotten. I meant to have 
seen it long ago.” 

“I’ll swap you even,” returned Sam firmly. “You 
promised you’d show me your map some day and 
you never have. I’ll bring the book if you bring 
the map.” 

“Of course I will,” Di agreed. “I always in- 
tended to show it to you ; but it’s a thing that takes 


Buffalo 


147 


a lot of explaining and we never seemed to have 
enough time to make it worth while to begin.” 

The two went to their respective wagons and then 
slowly walked together to the butte that rose out of 
the sea of prairie. The day was practically cloud- 
less, and as usual their objective proved to be farther 
off than it appeared to be. 

“This ridin’ all the time makes a feller soft,” 
said Sam. “I’m sort of puffy walkin’ just this little 
way.” 

“It’s quite a distance,” Di returned, “but you 
can ride back if you want to, for here comes Dots. 
She certainly follows you as if she was a puppy.” 

“She’s a great little pony,” Sam said, looking 
at his treasure affectionately. Then they both for- 
got her as they ascended the hill and seated them- 
selves on its summit. 

Di reached out a hand for Sam’s book and spread 
out its map on the grass between them. 

“Here’s about where we are.” She pointed with a 
spear of grass. “We’ve come all the way from 
there. You can see this time that we’ve made real 
progress.” 

“We’re getting on,” said Sam, lazily, lingering 
over the map. “But which was the funny picture 
you wanted to see? The gold washer? It’s got 
a whole page near the back.” He began hunting 
for it. 

“No,” Di answered taking the book from him and 
turning the pages. “This,” she said at last, holding 


148 


Diantha’s Quest 


it open at a smaller cut and reading hastily to her- 
self. She looked at it with knit brows for some 
time and when she spoke again it was half-angrily. 

“Why do people who can’t understand a thing 
act as if their stupidity was something to be proud 
of?” 

“What’s it all about?” Sam asked, “and why do 
you care?” 

“Oh, this man Rufus Porter, editor of the Scienti- 
fic Mechanic, says he’s going to take people to 
California by air and Mr. Sherwood just makes fun 
of him.” 

“I read it,” Sam chuckled. “I remember now. 
’Tis a fool idea, isn’t it?” 

“You don’t believe he can do it?” Di spoke heat- 
edly. “Well listen. He says, ‘A bouyant float, in 
the nature of a revoloidal spindle, should lift twenty- 
two thousand pounds.’ A steam engine to run it 
would weigh two thousand, and you could carry 
seventy-five passengers and their baggage. I don’t 
see why that isn’t a perfectly good calculation.” 

Sam dhuckled again. 

‘Oh, you can laugh, Sam Brand!” Di exclaimed. 
“There were people who laughed at steam-engines 
once.” 

“Oh, well,” Sam said, half apologetically, “of 
course I know you’re a lot smarter than I am, but 
what’s it going to run on? Tell me that! You 
can’t lay tracks on the air.” 

“You don’t need tracks for steam-boats, do you?” 


Buffalo 


149 


Di asked crushingly. “Why can’t this machine run 
like they do?” 

Receiving no answer Di looked up. Sam was no 
longer listening to her. Instead he was propped 
stiffly erect, his eyes widened and his mouth a little 
open in an extremity of surprise. 

And well might he be amazed. Here at last was 
the herd of buffalo they had all longed to see. Thou- 
sands of the shaggy beasts in a dense mass, their 
heads lowered to the grass upon which they grazed, 
had moved slowly and quietly forward until the 
hill upon which Di and Sam were sitting was en- 
tirely surrounded except on one side where a lane 
lay open to the plain. 

The boy and girl gazed down the side of the 
green butte upon this sea of rusty brown backs, awe- 
struck with wonder at the sight. It was almost as 
if a carpet had been spread over the sward, so closely 
were the buffalos packed together. 

But quickly their surprise gave place to anxiety. 
There was something menacing and fearful about 
this multitude of unreasoning beasts. 

“We must go down from here before they over- 
run us, “Di said, turning a little pale. She had 
heard tales of unfortunate people who had been 
caught in such a herd and trampled to death. That 
these tales were true, the spectacle before her amply 
proved. Nothing could withstand the onward rush 
of this seething mass of bone and muscle. 


150 


Diantha’s Quest 


Di started to get up, but Sam, wisely, placed a 
restraining hand upon her shoulder. 

“Don’t move,” he cautioned in a whisper. “Dad 
says they’re mighty curious. If they saw us they 
might come up here to have a look.” 

“But Sam — Di began, but the boy interrupted 
quietly. 

“We just don’t dare to run the risk of frighten- 
ing them,” he said. “We’re all right, so long as 
they don’t git scared. They’ll go around this hill. So 
long’s we’re afoot, our best chance is to stay quiet.” 

He looked about him and, in the open space where 
the head of the herd had divided to avoid climbing 
the butte, he saw Polka Dots grazing. There lay 
their means of escape, and the boy, realizing this at 
once, began to whistle, at first softly, then louder 
and louder. 

In a moment the little mustang lifted her head, 
pricking forward her ears in their direction. Again 
Sam whistled and as the sound reached the pony 
they saw her start toward them, her pace increasing 
steadily. 

“We’re all right now,” Sam murmured, but his 
elation was short-lived. Almost as he spoke a rifle 
shot rang out on the far side of the hill. This was 
quickly followed by another and the alarm of the 
buffalos was instantaneous. Their great heads were 
lifted nervously and then, with a bellowing that was 
almost deafening, the crazed herd plunged forward 
in one wild stampede. 


CHAPTER XIII 


DOTS TO THE RESCUE 

T HE stampede of a thousand buffalos meant 
death to anyone who was in their path. Ordi- 
narily the hill on which Sam and Diwere sitting 
would have divided the herd which would have con- 
tinued to graze around its base and move on slowly 
into the open country, but it was not steep enough to 
turn them when they had been alarmed. They surged 
up the side of it, their clumsy lumbering gait, swifter 
by far than it looked, rapidly closing the gap be- 
tween them and the children. The noise of their 
thudding hoofs filled the air like the rolling of drums 
and Diantha, fascinated by the fate that seemed in- 
evitable, sat transfixed, unable to take her eyes from 
their tossing heads. 

Suddenly Sam’s voice roused her from the daze 
in which she was plunged. 

“Oh good little Dots!” he shouted. “Come on, 
Di, she’ll save us yet.” He seized the girl’s hand as 
he spoke, dragging her to her feet, and together 
they ran down the far slope up which the pinto 
pony was coming to their rescue dodging through 
the scattered buffalos, who, on that side of the hill, 
151 


152 


Diantha’s Quest 


were as yet only vaguely uneasy, lifting up their 
heads from the grass and listening to the approach 
of the herd which soon was to sweep them with it 
in blind terror. In and out Polka Dots dodged, and 
the children ran to meet her. 

“If she only had a bridle on,” Sam said, “but she 
hasn’t. I’ll grab her mane and mount. Then I’ll 
give you a hand, and you put your foot on mine and 
swing up behind me. After that it is up to Dots. 
We’ll be swept along with the herd and if she keeps 
her feet, we’ll be able to pull out sooner or later.” 

“She’s sure-footed,” Di panted bravely; but just 
at that moment Polka Dots seemed to falter. She 
had seen the approaching line of the herd and hesi- 
tated. 

Sam whistled piercingly and once more the little 
mustang obeyed the call, but she was frightened 
now. She knew the danger she had to meet, and 
she reached them barely in time. Sam wheeled her 
as he mounted, then swung Di up behind him. This 
steadied the pinto. She no longer had to face that 
oncoming line of shaggy heads, and her beloved 
master was on her back, whistling as usual. Indeed 
she never faltered thereafter, even when the herd en- 
gulfed them. 

The noise was stunning and there was no resisting 
the stampede ; for a time they were swept along with- 
out a word between them. But of a sudden Di 
shouted in Sam’s ear. 


Dots to the Rescue 


153 


“Whistle louder, Sam. As loud as you can. The 
buffalos don’t like it!” 

Obediently Sam emitted the most piercing notes 
in his repertory, and to his surprise he found that 
Di was right. Almost imperceptibly the animals 
which had pressed them so closely that his legs had 
touched their heaving sides drew away. They still 
were closed in by buffaloes; but if Dots had only 
worn a bridle he would have been able to draw back 
bit by bit. 

As it was he could do little save gentle the mare 
and whistle; but of her own accord she lessened her 
pace when she could, and it soon became evident 
that the herd was out-distancing them. 

“We’re being left behind, Sam,” Di cried. 
“Look! We’re not in a tight mass of buffalos any 
longer.” 

Indeed the scattered end of the herd was all that 
now surrounded them. The noise and dust and 
smell had passed them, but it was not till the last 
yearling had lumbered by that Sam dared to bring 
Dots to a halt. 

Now that the danger was over the boy was shak- 
ing a little. Dots had saved them, but he had felt 
his responsibility for Di’s life and he would have 
liked to slip off the horse and throw himself flat 
on the ground, torn as it was with the passage of 
many hoofs, until he had recovered somewhat from 
what he had been through. 

Di, however, was scanning the trail over which 


154 


Diantha’s Quest 


they had come, her hand shading her eyes, for her 
sunbonnet had gone long before in their first mad 
rush. 

“I wonder how far it is ?” she asked gravely. “We 
must ride back as fast as we can. Poor mother will 
not know what has happened — and your father, 
too.” 

“Don’t believe Dad knew where I was going,” 
Sam said, but he gave up the idea of resting before 
they went back, and managed to head Dots toward 
the camp. 

It was easy enough to follow the broad trail left 
by the herd, but they had not gone very far along 
before they saw a party riding toward them. 

“Here comes mother!” Di cried. “I guess she 
’most did have one of Uncle Toby’s conniptions this 
time. It would take that to get her on a horse.” She 
leaned sidewise and waved her hand to the approach- 
ing riders, who responded with shouts and redoubled 
speed. 

“Are either of you injured?” cried Mrs. Carter, 
as she drew rein beside them. Her face was pale, 
showing the strain she had endured; but her tone was 
calm. 

“Not a scratch, mama,” Di answered, in a voice 
she strove to keep gay. Truth to tell the sight of 
her mother had brought her unexpectedly to the 
verge of tears, just why she would have found it 
hard to say. 

“Who fired that shot?” Sam demanded. “There 


Dots to the Rescue 


155 


wouldn’t have been any trouble except for that, 
most likely.” 

“How come you didn’t see the buffalos, Sammy?” 
Brand asked. “You was on a rise. We was down 
in the creek-bottom, so naturally they bust on us 
sudden-like; but I don’t know why you didn’t see 
em. 

“We were reading a book,” Di explained, “and 
they’re very quiet when they aren’t running.” She 
repressed a shudder. “Anyhow, we saw them in 
time to ride out of the ring, if it hadn’t been for 
that shot. That started the stampede.” 

“It wasn’t fired by none of us,” Tupper remarked. 
“Captain Brand and your ma warned us all where 
you was, so we was just ridin’ herd on them buffalo 
to steer ’em away from the camp, although it did 
seem hard to let so much good bull-beef go 'to waste. 
Then come that shot, and the whole bunch lit out 
lickety-split.” 

“At any rate no harm’s done,” said Brand, “so 
we may as well get back to camp — ’less any of you 
would like to have a crack at a buffalo for revenge, 
like.” 

“If I know buffalos, and I think I do,” a man 
named Mott remarked, “that herd won’t stop short 
of sundown. It would be a waste of time to put 
out after them.” 

Everyone seemed to accept this view of the case 
and the party rode back to their base together to 


156 


Diantha’s Quest 


find that a large pack-train had come up and camped 
beside their wagons. 

A visitor from this train was talking loudly to 
Uncle Toby as they drew rein and the old negro 
was vigorously refusing something that was being 
pressed upon him. 

“I wouldn’t take it if it was a Virginia ham let 
alone a buff’lo tongue!” he shouted. “You go and 
scramble all them buff’lo down on top o’ my little 
Miss Di and then you-all want us to eat your ole 
buff’lo tongue.” 

“Don’t I tell you we didn’t know anyone was on 
that dumpling?” the visitor said in an aggrieved tone 
trying to talk him down. “Ain’t I seekin’ to make 
you see that it was an accident and you shouldn’t 
harbor ill feelings? We’re powerful sorry or we 
wouldn’t be offerin’ you the best part of the first 
buffalo we ever saw.” 

“Take it, Uncle Toby and say ‘thank you,’ ” 
called Di, slipping down from Dot’s back and run- 
ning over to the old man, who retreated before her 
advance, warding her off with his hands. 

“Go ’way, chile,” he said feebly. “What you 
cornin’ after me for? Ain’t I been cryin’ my eyes out, 
account I see you killed this very day?” 

“Nonsense, Uncle Toby,” said Di, “I’m not at 
all killed, but I’m very hungry, so please take the 
tongue, and be polite about it.” 

“You — you mean me to understand you isn’t 
dead?” Unble Toby asked cautiously. Then as the 


Dots to the Rescue 


157 


facts of the case got the better of his superstitious 
fear, he came to himself. “Thank you, sir, for this 
here buff’lo tongue,” he said, “my ladies they’ll en- 
joy it as a change from tu’keys and pa’tridges.” This 
flight of fancy, which he considered a duty owed to 
the pride of his party, having duly impressed the 
visitor, he went on severely. “But, next time, you 
want to be more carefuller how you-all let off fire- 
arms. Supposin’ the pusson up on the hill had been 
just an ordinary pusson instead of a Carter, those 
buffalos wouldn’t ’a’ had the same respect for her 
and would ’a’ gone right over the top of her.” Then 
he turned his attention to Di. “You certainly is the 
beatenes’ child for gettin’ lost,” he said. “I dunno 
know what Marse Charles is gwine to say about it 
when I tell him.” 

“I can tell you,” declared Di, seeing that Mrs. 
Carter and Brand were engaging the visitor in con- 
versation and were explaining how she and Sam 
had escaped death. “He’ll say you’d save your- 
self a lot of worry if you’d only put your faith in 
my fairy god-mothers. They’ll look out for me.” 

Uncle Toby moved away at this sally, muttering 
to himself, and Di turned her attention to the group 
around her mother and Captain Brand, a group 
which had grown until it included all of the adults 
in the two trains. 

Still inwardly shaken by the ordeal of the after- 
noon she had no desire to hear her experiences told 
over and over again, so she slipped around one end 


158 


Diantha’s Quest 


of their wagon to get out of sight just as Sam, 
moved by a similar impulse, slipped around the other 
end. The two met and exchanged rather sheepish 
grins. 

“Sam,” said Di suddenly, “I’m sure I ought to tell 
you. I may be one of those wonderful Carters 
Uncle Toby is never tired of talking about. In fact 
I suppose I am, but I’m no heroine ! I was so scared 
I was paralyzed. I didn’t even think, and, if you 
hadn’t pulled me along, I don’t believe it would ever 
have occurred to me to move.” 

“You didn’t see Dots,” returned Sam. “You had 
your eyes on the herd; but you weren’t any scareder 
than I was. It was as much as I could do to pucker 
my lips to whistle.” 

“Dots is the real heroine of this occasion,” said 
Di finally. “She saw the buffalos and w r as afraid of 
them; but she came ahead and did her duty in spite 
of her fear.” 

“Yes,” agreed Sam, “she’s a wonder, that little 
horse. If ever I get to Californy the first gold I 
find I’m goin’ to have a star made of it and set in 
her bridle to remember this by.” 

Di nodded, then she asked : 

“If ever you get to California? What do you 
mean by that, Sam?” 

“Nothing really,” Sam replied, giving a nervous 
little laugh, “but this — today — made me see I hadn’t 
counted all the chances. I never made allowance for 
herds of wild buffalos and such.” 


Dots to the Rescue 


159 


“Oh, well,” said Di lightly, “all’s well that ends 
well. I don’t feel much like talking about it yet, and 
hearing people ‘oh,’ and ‘ah’ ; but I suppose, really 
this is one of those adventures that I’ve always en- 
vied other people, and some day we’ll both think it’s 
lots of fun to tell about the time we were stampeded.” 

“Guess you’re right!” Sam nodded agreement. 
“But the darned things had such a queer smell, Di. 
It makes me sick now if I think I get a whiff of it. 
Anyhow there’s only one thing I’m really sorry for. 
It was too bad you should have lost your map.” 

“You needn’t be sorry for that,” Di told him. 
“Think of your book. Even if the map had gone I 
knew it by heart ; but that book — ” 

“Why, I didn’t lose it,” Sam interrupted aston- 
ished. “To be sure I don’t recall putting it away, 
but it’s here in my pocket, safe and sound.” 

“That’s funny!” Di exclaimed, “because the last 
real thought I remember having was that I must 
take care of my map — so I swallowed it.” 

“You swallowed it!” Sam cut in, horrified. “I 
don’t call that sensible. Won’t it kill you?” 

“I didn’t swallow it down my throat,” Di ex- 
plained laughing with her old-time naturalness. “I 
stuck it down the neck of my dress. I always used 
to carry nuts and apples that way when I was little, 
and it’s quite safe. My belt keeps the things from 
popping out.” 

“Then you’ll show it to me some day yet,” Sam 
said. 


160 


Diantha’s Quest 


And Di answered heartily, “Of course I will!” 

That night, before she slept, she had a talk with 
her mother over the principal event of the day. 

“I know how it frightened you, mama,” Di said, 
“and I’m truly sorry; but honestly I don’t think I 
was reckless. That hill looked like a perfectly safe 
place, and I’d told you where I was going. I seem 
to be one of those persons who step out of hot water 
with one foot to step into it with the other.” 

“I haven’t blamed you, Di,” her mother said, 
smiling. “It was no more your fault than mine.” 

“I thought you were going to say, ‘It’s no more 
your fault than having red hair,’ ” Di chuckled. “You 
know that was my last horrible adventure. A lucky 
adventure for me,” she added philosophically, run- 
ning her fingers through the mop of short red curls 
that already were long enough to be quite becoming. 
“I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to make up my mind 
to let it grow again, it’s so comfortable as it is.” 

“It makes you look like a naughty boy,” her 
mother sighed, and Di sat up and pretended indigna- 
tion. 

“Now that’s unjust!” she exclaimed. “I could 
bear it if you said it made me look like a good boy, 
or even just a boy; but when you tack on the naughty 
— well you make me want to do something to earn 
the title.” 

“My dear Di,” said her mother mock-earnestly, 
“far be it from me to stimulate such ambitions. I 


Dots to the Rescue 


161 


retract ! I apologize ! It makes you look like a 
cherub. How does that satisfy you?” 

“It’s better,” Di declared. “A lot better, and 
now I’ll turn over and go to sleep. If only I can 
get the noise of those thudding hoofs out of my 
ears !” 

Her mother looked at her anxiously. She knew 
Di was high-strung and imaginative, too imaginative, 
she thought; so, as she tucked her in and kissed her, 
she answered lightly. 

“Oh, pretend they are white sheep jumping a 
fence and that you’re obliged to count them, and 
you’ll soon forget everything else.” 

So Di counted the sheep till the sound of their 
feet grew soft and they turned into great white but- 
terflies that carried her on their downy wings into 
the land of sleep, 


CHAPTER XIV 


A STRANGE INDIAN 

D URING the month that followed the adven- 
ture with the buffalos the S. Brand caravan 
moved steadily across the plains. Sam and 
Di, picking out their position on the precious “Con- 
gresh’nal” map, could look back and remember 
many difficulties successfully overcome and recall 
their experiences at various points along the way. 

There was Ash Hollow, where it had been neces- 
sary to chain the wheels of the wagons together 
to keep them from overturning as they were slowly 
eased down the steep bank. At the Platte they had 
found three hundred vehicles ahead of them, wait- 
ing to be ferried across the river, and only wagons 
being permitted on the boats, the animals were 
obliged to swim. Numerous smaller streams had had 
to be forded, and at some of these the emigrants 
were forced to block up the bodies of their wagons 
or, when the water was too deep, to lift the wagon- 
beds off the wheels and use them as boats to carry 
their goods to the opposite shore. In the alkali 
plains they suffered severely from thirst, but they 
found sage brush to kindle their fires. Here the 
162 


A Strange Indian 


163 


trail was fringed with the bones of cattle killed by 
drinking from the pools of poisonous water, and it 
required constant vigilance to keep their own animals 
from destroying themselves. 

Then they reached the Sweetwater, a stream that 
twisted and wound in and out across their path. 
There followed rocky roads that jolted their wagons 
dangerously, and sandy roads that, although the pull- 
ing was heavy, eased the bruised feet of their ani- 
mals. Sometimes the dust was so dense that the lead 
teams were obscured by it, and again, to compensate 
the weary travelers, clear days and good going put 
new life into the little company. There were many 
small accidents to man and beast, and here Mrs. Car- 
ter’s aid was invaluable. Her skill in healing was 
proven on many occasions and the gratitude of the 
party was shown by the way they followed her direc- 
tions without protest. She waged a constant war 
against scurvy, doling out her vinegar or dried apples 
in as small doses as possible and guarding her meagre 
store with jealous eyes. 

A few small trading posts existed along their 
line of march, but at these they found prices so high 
that it was thought wiser to buy only those things 
which they actually needed. At Ft. Laramie, those 
who had crossed the river, found real houses and a 
sutler’s store where the cost of goods was fairly 
reasonable; but having grown wise, few added to 
their load. They had learned the value of keeping 
their wagons as light as possible. Already some of 


164 


Diantha’s Quest 


them had been forced to abandon cherished posses- 
sions along the route, and they had no wish to repeat 
the experience. 

But these trading-posts were welcome spots. They 
formed rough club rooms for the travelers. Here 
newspapers, months old, might be found, hung over 
strips of buckskin, to be read but handled as little 
as possible. Here notices, sent back by those who 
had hurried forward, would be posted to warn out- 
distanced friends of the failure of springs or pastur- 
age; to advise of a good blacksmith or dishonest 
trader; and, above all, to spread the latest news 
from the gold fields. 

This still was the vital interest in the minds of all 
the emigrants. Gold, gold, gold! Not so much did 
they talk or dream of what they would do with it 
after they had found it; that rarely seemed to enter 
their minds. It was the discovery of the gold that 
preoccupied them. The weight of it. The color of 
it. The fact that one stroke of the pick might dis- 
close untold riches. That was their romance, and 
was all they cared to dwell upon. In a way they 
were all misers, gloating over golden treasures they 
might never see. 

So at last the S. Brands had reached the foot of 
the Rocky Mountains and were halted to rest their 
animals thoroughly before the dreaded march 
through the stony defiles was begun. The Contin- 
ental Divide was the next great barrier to their 
progress, and from the tales that had come back to 


A Strange Indian 


165 


them they knew that miles of difficult and danger- 
ous country lay between them and Salt Lake City, 
where they meant to stop for the replenishment of 
their stores before the final journey across the 
deserts. 

The Cronin baby was sick again, and Mrs. Carter 
welcomed the stop, hoping that a day or two of quiet 
might bring the ailing little body back to a semblance 
of health. Di had assumed the burden of the other 
children and was amusing them by telling them stor- 
ies, to which Sam was listening with even more at- 
tention than the younger audience to whom they were 
addressed. 

Little Peter was most sceptical of the wonderful 
land of which Di told him and at length burst out 
into open protest. 

“I don’t believe there is such a place,” he declared 
roundly. “If there was, wouldn’t me father be goin’ 
to it, instead of this Californy?” 

“Perhaps he never heard of it,” Sam remarked, 
making a long arm to pull Katie back, who, being 
only three, was trying to slip away in search of her 
mother. 

“It isn’t likely he wouldn’t know,” Peter protested, 
“him that has a map to Californy where the gold 
lies hid.” 

“But I have a map too,” Di told the youngster 
with a laugh. “If that is all you need to convince 
you I’ll draw it here for you on the ground. We’ll 


166 


Diantha’s Quest 


make it very pretty if you and Annie will bring me 
little flowers to plant in it.” 

By this time the map of fairy land was almost as 
familiar to Sam as it was to Di He had been over 
it with her again and again and somehow, to both 
of them, it had grown to have a close connection with 
this journey they were taking. 

To be sure it was not the Congressional Map to 
which the boy still pinned his faith, but it was capable 
of endless expansion. The people who inhabited it 
were very much like those met with every day, but 
they were not tied down by stupid rules. It was 
perfectly easy for a fairy to travel a thousand miles 
in an instant, if one so wished, and yet the way could 
be made as difficult as the long journey across the 
western continent. There were no Indians in the 
country of Di’s imagining, but there were giants, 
who were no less fearsome to the lonely wanderer. 
Sam found it great fun to translate their own adven- 
tures into terms of fairy land, but there were times 
when it almost seemed as if Di believed it all, and 
Sam could not deny that many things happened in a 
most unaccountable way. Could it be that fairy god- 
mothers, who possessed very human attributes after 
all, were responsible for these strange and unex- 
pected occurrences? Di said “Yes” positively, and 
it is to be noted that Sam no longer argued the 
matter. 

He watched her intently as she modeled her map 
for the Cronin children. 


A Strange Indian 


167 


“We’ll make it so that when we’re done it will 
look like a garden,” Di began. “Right here is 
the Enchanted Forest. We’ll stick in lots of green 
twigs for it. The Sleeping Beauty lives in the mid- 
dle of it you know, and this twisty ribbon of grass 
is the brook where Little Sister begged Little 
Brother not to drink — ” 

“Alkali water, I s’pose,” remarked Peter with a 
bored air. “My mother most never lets me get a 
good drink any more.” 

“But Little Brother did drink and something very 
unfortunate happened to him,” Di continued. “He 
was turned into a stag. Remember that and obey. 
Over here is the Ginger-bread House where Hansel 
and Gretel lived with the Witch.” 

“That’s the kind of a house I’d like to live in,” 
Peter said, interested in spite of himself. 

“On the edge of the forest is the home of the 
Three Bears where Goldylocks visited and beyond 
that is the rocky mount where the giant Cormoran 
lived. Behind it lies the land of all the giants Jack 
the Giant Killer slew, including the one who sang 
‘Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum! I smell the blood of an English- 
man. Be he alive or be he dead, I’ll grind his bones 
to make my bread.’ ” 

Annie and Katy snuggled up to Sam at this alarm- 
ing verse and he threw an arm about each, delighted 
to keep them out of mischief so easily. 

“And by the way, that giant must have been a 
relation of the one that Jack, of Jack and the Bean- 


168 


Diantha’s Quest 


stalk, killed. You remember he lived above the 
clouds and sang the same song?” 

“How could anyone live above the clouds?” 
sniffed Peter. “They’d fall through.” 

“They could so,” said Annie, who was ordinarily 
much impressed by her big brother’s wisdom; but 
who now had given her allegiance to Di. “Like on 
top of Mt. Laramie. I saw it with me own two eyes. 
Clouds half way down it there was, and snow a-top.” 

“Here is a village where lots of people lived. Red 
Riding-hood’s grandmother. The Three Little Pigs 
Who went to Market. The Old Woman who Lived 
in a Shoe. Dick Whittington and his cat before they 
went away to London-Town — ” 

“You didn’t tell us about all of them,” objected 
Annie. 

“Give me time,” laughed Di. “Just now Pm 
making a map of Fairy Tale Land. Over here is the 
Hill of Goblin Gold. It is beyond the Sad Plain of 
the Bad Fairies and the Witches’ Mountain.” 

“But what like of gold is that?” Peter asked. 

“It’s gold that’s easy to come by,” Di explained, 
“but sometimes, if you didn’t earn it fairly, you 
wake in the morning to find that you have a purse 
full of leaves or lumps of coal.” 

“Did ever anybody see a fairy? That’s what I 
want to know,” Peter demanded. 

“Surely,” Di answered. “Lots of people. And 
the elves are the liveliest little things. If you watch 
the next time it rains you’ll see the ruffles of their 


A Strange Indian 


169 


skirts as they splash into the puddles with the rain- 
drops. And they come sliding down the sunbeams 
and bob out of sight under your very nose. They 
think it’s a fine joke, because you’re too slow to 
catch them.” 

‘I’m none so slow,” said Peter bristling. “I’ll lay 
hold of one of them tricksy things some day, and 
then you’ll see !” 

“If you do, don’t let it go till you’ve won a wish 
from it,” Di cautioned him. “They live on the 
Emerald Mountain that lies over here. The Ko- 
bolds have a cave under the hills next to it, and both 
of those hills are full of treasure.” 

“Gold dust?” asked Annie, “like the men from 
Californy carry in little bags?” 

“Better than that,” Di assured her. “Emeralds 
and rubies and diamonds. A handful of them is 
worth all the gold you could load on your father’s 
wagons. Even their flowers are rubies or pearls or 
amethysts. The leaves are emeralds and the dew- 
drops are diamonds, so you want to be very careful 
that one doesn’t drop in your eye.” 

“Was you ever in Fairy-land?” Annie asked seri- 
ously. 

“Yes,” Di answered slowly, “but only once.” 

Sam sat up and looked at her in surprise. 

“It was the night of the stampede,” she went on 
a serious note coming into her voice. “At first I 
couldn’t sleep. I seemed to be followed by rushing 
hoofs, and I was hot and restless. So I tried to 


170 


Diantha’s Quest 


think of sheep, quite clean, woolly sheep, downy to 
the touch like fleecy blankets and smelling of laven- 
der. And soon I felt something softer than the 
softest down and I found that I was resting on the 
wings of great white butterflies with sapphire eyes. 
Moths I suppose 'they were really, because it was 
night, and they flew up and up and up. I was so 
close to the stars that I saw that they weren’t holes 
in the sky as I had always thought, but golden nails 
that held the blue dome in place; and we flew on and 
on, and then a soft light began to dawn and the 
moths fluttered lightly down until I was in Fairy- 
land at last.” 

“Di,” cried Sam sharply, “wasn’t it a dream?” 

“How should I know?” the girl returned almost 
passionately. “It seemed as real as — as you. They 
helped me down from the butterflies, those beautiful 
little people. They were very kind to me. They 
played me soft music and offered me fine things 
to eat and drink, but I remembered that if you want 
to return to the earth you must take no morsel of 
fairy food, so I thanked them for their beautiful 
fruit but did not taste it. I raised the jeweled goblet 
to my lips but did not sip it, and before cock crow 
they sent me home.” 

“I’d a-bringed that goblet with me,” declared 
Peter. “I’d ’a’ made something out of such a chancy 
trip.” 

“I did make something out of it,” said Di, still 
serious. “They told me how to know the wishing- 




“ME TELL” 


A Strange Indian 


171 


well. It will be shaped like this.” She drew in a 
curious character on her diagram and pointed at it 
with poised stick; but Sam put out a restraining hand. 

“That isn’t where it is,” he said, pointing too. 
“It’s over here.” 

Di looked at him in astonishment. 

“Why, Sam, I know the map by heart,” she pro- 
tested gently. 

“Yes, I know; but really you’re wrong, Di, this 
time,” Sam insisted. “The wishing-well is over here 
on the edge of the Enchanted Forest.” 

“Oh Sam, you’re all twisted,” Di answered 
laughing. “It’s in the Sad Plain of the Bad Fairies 
just at the foot of the Gnomes’ Hill.” 

Sam shook his head stubbornly. 

“All right,” Di said, jumping to her feet. “You 
look after the Cronin children and I’ll get the map, 
just to prove your mistake,” and she hurried away. 

When she returned an Indian had joined the 
group. He was a friendly savage who had wan- 
dered into the camp, and Di’s fairy tale garden 
seemed to attract his attention. But when the girl, 
after a nod to him, seated herself and spread out 
the map, he at once showed a livelier curiosity. 

“Me tell!” he grunted, holding out his hand. 

“There isn’t anything you can tell about this,” 
Di replied, smiling. It seemed extremely amusing 
that an Indian should think he could give her any in- 
formation about her fairy map. 

“You give! Me tell!” he insisted, but Di shook 


172 


Diantha’s Quest 


her head. She was familiar with the tricks of these 
strange people, who were always ready to make 
off with anything that took their fancy. 

“What do you suppose he wants?” Sam asked. 
The Indian’s interest had impressed him more than 
it had the girl beside him. 

“It’s the colors he’s attracted by,” Di asserted, 
referring to the parchment map which was laced to 
a carved and painted stick with a thong of skin. 
“He thinks it’s a picture of something back east.” 

“Me tell! Me tell!” the Indian repeated, point- 
ing, and so serious was he that even Di began to 
wonder if, after all, there was more than mere curi- 
osity in his insistence. 

“Give it to him,” Sam urged, “and let’s see what 
he’ll do with it. He can’t get away, you know. A 
shout would bring the whole camp.” 

For an instant Di hesitated, then she gave the 
map into the out-stretched, brown hand. 

The Indian squatted down and spread it out be- 
fore him. Then taking up a stick he smoothed a 
place in the sand. 

“He’s spoiling our Fairy-land!” cried little Annie, 
aggrieved, but no one heeded her. 

“Here white man’s wigwam,” the Indian began. 
“Many men coming!” He opened and shut his hand 
rapidly to indicate tens. “White man’s heart — it 
run out. Take — ” He stopped for a moment, 
seemingly at a loss to explain what had been taken, 
then his hand went to his breast where hung a neck- 


A Strange Indian 


173 


lace of bears’ claws, and he shook it, murmuring, 
“Take! Take!” Then he drew a zig-zag line 
toward the east and held up three fingers. “Ride! 
Suns! Fast! Plenty scared!” He jumped to his 
feet and touched a tree, spreading his arms to indi- 
cate huge size. After that with a grunt, he held up 
a hand and two fingers, stooped quickly and made 
a diagram on the earth to show the position of these 
trees, and began digging briskly. “Hide !” he said, 
and again touched the necklace. “White man, he 
ride back to wigwam!” His finger retraced the 
twisting trail, then rising quickly to his feet he cried, 
“How!” and marched off leaving the map where 
he had spread it out on the ground. 

The vivid pantomime was over. Sam and Di 
looked at each other in astonishment, the disputed 
situation of the wishing-well quite forgotten. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE TRAIL IS BLOCKED 

W HAT on earth does the man mean?” Di 
burst out. “There’s nothing like that on 
the map at all.” 

“There is not,” Sam agreed. “But Di, he wasn’t 
joshin’ us. He believed what he said.” 

“He seemed to,” Di acknowledged. “I tell you 
what I think. I think he’s crazy. I suppose there 
are crazy Indians just as there are crazy white peo- 
ple.” 

The little Cronins, not interested in this discus- 
sion, began to show signs of restlessness and a game 
of puss-in-the-corner was organized for their bene- 
fit which effectually put a stop to further discussion. 
But when at last they had been turned over to 
Seraphy and Clara Bell Tupper who were 'to take 
charge of them for the afternoon, Di and Sam re- 
verted to the subject of the map. 

They spread it out, they looked at it back and 
front, with no result other than to confirm Di’s 
judgment that the Indian must be crazy. 

“There’s nothing new on this map at all!” Di 
averred. “Of course, I was too little when I was 
174 


The Trail is Blocked 


17S 


there to remember anything I saw in Virginia; but 
the real map that this is a copy of hangs in the 
nursery at Eastover, and all the Carter children 
love it and learn to know it by heart. That’s why 
my father made this one for me.” 

“Why didn’t he just give you the old one?” Sam 
asked. 

“It doesn’t belong to him,” Di explained, sur- 
prised at the question. “It’s part of the old place, 
and when Grandpapa dies it will go to my uncle 
Pinckney and his wife, with all the rest of that prop- 
erty. Father was the first one married, but really 
he’s only the third son.” 

“I don’t see how that makes any difference — ” 
Sam began, but Di cut him short. 

“It does, in Virginia !” she declared. “Here 
comes mama. Now we’ll hear how the baby is.” 
She furled the map around the stick as she spoke and 
slipped it down the loose neck of her dress. Then 
she ran to meet her mother. 

The baby was better. Unmistakably better. So 
Mrs. Carter hoped that if they could manage to 
get it through to Salt Lake where good milk might 
be obtained for it it would yet survive. On its ac- 
count it had been decided to move on that afternoon 
and cross the Divide by moonlight, in view of which 
fact she was going to lie down for an hour or so and 
wished Di to do the same. 

That night, shivering in the dry cold air Di, 
mounted on Argo, sat, as it seemed to her on the 


176 


Diantha’s Quest 


edge of the world. Tumbled mountains were on 
every hand with black gulfs between, but on one 
side she knew that all the streams ran down to join 
the Atlantic Ocean, while on the other the Pacific 
was their goal. 

Looking toward the west she wondered how the 
first white man had felt who had stood on that spot. 
Had he been possessed of the spirit of a Cortes or a 
Pizzaro? Was he an adventurer for the love of 
adventure, of country, or of gold? She wondered 
deeply, and still wondering started the descent 
toward the western ocean. 

Now came days of the roughest travel they had 
yet had and the weather was often against them. 
They were nearly stopped by a snowstorm on the 
heights, to plunge from it into valleys of humid 
heat; but at length they reached the forks. The 
right road, leading to Sublete’s Cut-off, looked as if 
nine-tenths of the wagons went that way. But the 
left road was the road to Salt Lake City, and for 
the sake of the Cronin baby, who, thanks to Mrs. 
Carter’s care was still alive, the S. Brands turned 
down it. 

From there on the caravan had a constant strug- 
gle. The roads and passes were narrow and rocky, 
dangerous for wagons and hard for man and beast. 
The Green River, called Ham’s Fork, was swollen 
so that the wagon-beds had to be raised six inches. 
The Bear River was so high that the ford was im- 
passable and everything had to be ferried across. 


The Trail is Blocked 


177 


Here Sam had an adventure. He was washed 
from Polka Dots’ back while swimming her over 
the stream. Indeed a tragedy was only averted be- 
cause he managed to seize Dots’ tail, and she landed 
with him some rods below the ford. 

“That’s another gold star for her bridle,” the boy 
told Di. “Dad’s going to give her this one.” 

A day or two before they had reached Ham’s 
Fork they had had their first experience of real 
thirst. In the valley they were traveling, which was 
arid and sandy, they had constantly been tempted 
to leave the trail by the sight of pleasant waters and 
green banks, sometimes near and sometimes far 
away. 

“It’s like magic!” were words that came from 
more than one dry and thirsty throat; but Di and 
Sam went farther than that. 

“It is magic!” they said to each other. “There it 
is, sometimes for hours at a time, just as real as any 
water. And then in a flash it may be gone, or else 
it slowly fades away till you see the sand beyond 
right through it. It is the work of wicked fairies 
trying to tempt us from the only road.” 

But the mirage left them before they got to the 
fertile Green River valley, and they did not see it 
again. 

Many people were passing them now on pack 
mules or horses, some even with their burdens on 
their own backs, for it was necessary to go very 
slowly with wagons as more than one had been up- 


17*8 


Diantha’s Quest 


set and its contents spilt. Captain Brand gave it as 
his opinion that if he had again to cross the contin- 
ent he would do it with pack animals only, or else 
he would be content with slow progress and oxen. 

Odd teams were a frequent sight. Many emi- 
grants had lost animals and had been forced to ac- 
cept any substitute they could buy, or else two out- 
fits had consolidated, after abandoning such wagons 
as could not be taken further. 

“Here go the ‘Ho for Californys’ !” someone 
would cry, and all would turn their heads to see a 
dun cow, a black ox and a donkey pulling a wooden 
wagon which had been lightened considerably by 
sawing a foot of it away and abandoning it. 

“We’re bound to get to the land of promise ahead 
of you yet, even if we get there on two wheels,” the 
driver called back to them cheerfully. “The next 
cut I make is goin’ to be plumb in the middle.” 

The people who had passed and repassed on the 
long trail had grown friendly and indulged in many 
jokes at each other’s expense but no one was ever in 
trouble that help was not freely offered. Indeed 
Mrs. Carter’s name was held in grateful memory in 
many an outfit where her little medicine box and 
commonsense had been of assistance. 

The S. Brands had had rather more than the usual 
good luck in that they had so far lost few animals. 
Or perhaps it was their captain’s good judgment that 
was responsible, for he had steadfastly adhered to 
his policy that slow and sure was the best motto and 


The Trail is Blocked 


179 


had rested his teams whenever he saw they needed 
it. At all events they now entered upon the last 
ravine leading down to Salt Lake City in better shape 
than most outfits that had gone before them. And 
it was as well, for this six mile canon became cele- 
brated as the worst road ever traveled by civilized 
man. 

“The trail ahead of us is blocked, Dad!” Young 
Sam had ridden back to give his father the news. 
“Sourball’s outfit is hung up and stopping the way. 
His old Crowbait dropped dead and, the horse he’s 
got left is too weak to move the wagon. Better stop 
where we are. It’s steeper beyond here.” 

The wagon train was halted while Captain Brand 
and several of the other men went forward to see 
what help must be offered, the road at that point 
being too narrow to admit of passing. 

Old Sourball was a well-known character. He 
belonged to no outfit, but went alone or hung on the 
skirts of any train which seemed to suit his con- 
venience. He had not been generous with his neigh- 
bors when help had been asked of him, so perhaps 
there was no one on the whole trail to whom they 
were less eager to offer aid. Stories of his lack of 
kindliness had been passed from one to another and 
the man himself had discouraged all proffers of 
friendship, so long as he could be independent of it. 

Sam and Di, riding down the rough road, anxious 
to see all that was to be seen, came suddenly upon a 
heated discussion. 


180 


Diantha’s Quest 


Sourball’s best horse being dead and the other one 
obviously unable to draw his wagon and load, 
Captain Brand had made the natural suggestion that 
he do as others had done before him; pack what the 
horse could carry on its back and abandon his wagon, 
which they could then push over the side of the ra- 
vine, where they had already deposited the dead 
horse, and thus clear the road. 

The man’s answer to this was an outburst of furi- 
ous accusations. They thought they’d put him out 
of the way and get what he’d carried so far, did 
they? Well, they’d find out their mistake! He’d 
give them twenty-five dollars for the best horse they 
had, or they could pull him out of the canon gratis ; 
for his wagon and its contents should never be 
wasted. 

Captain Brand, striving to bring him to reason, 
pointed out that no one among them could spare a 
horse even though he had offered a fair price in- 
stead of a niggardly one. 

The man sneered at this, remarking that the two 
horses ridden by Sam and Di didn’t seem over- 
worked. Either of them would serve his purpose. 

Brand, beginning to lose patience, told him sharp- 
ly that although the ponies were not for sale they 
were worth more money than he offered. More- 
over they were mustangs, not broken to harness, 
and the parties behind could hardly be expected to 
wait the month or more that would be required to 


The Trail is Blocked 


181 


break them. In fact, unpleasant as it was, he must 
listen to reason. 

But nothing would move Sourball. There he was 
in the path and there he meant to stay until someone 
pulled him out. The S. Brands, now joined by a 
party from an outfit back of them, drew off to con- 
sult. To the knowledge of those present such a 
case had never arisen before, their means of trans- 
portation being one thing that each party was justi- 
fied in reserving to their own use, except for the 
overcoming of some sudden obstacle where mutual 
aid was freely given. The first thought therefore 
was to overwhelm the man by force of numbers, 
push his wagon over the edge and tell him to come 
on with their outfits or stay as best suited him. But 
no one was ready to take the responsibility of such 
action. What was the law in such a case? Had 
they the right to force a man to destroy valuable 
goods or to allow them to do so? No one could 
answer, yet it was obvious that one person could 
not be permitted to block the way of the oncoming 
caravans. 

“We’ll go and tell him we’ll buy his prairie 
schooner,” one of the newcomers suggested. “If 
each wagon held up here by this time chips in a 
dollar it ought to be enough.” 

“See what you can do with the stubborn Dutch- 
man,” said Brand, wiping his brow. “He’s too 
tough for me. I can’t move him. But we’ve a sick 


182 Diantha’s Quest 

baby with us that we’re wishful to get into Salt 
Lake City alive.” 

The other man and a friend started off to try 
their luck, but came back with bulging eyes. 

“Do you know what’s the matter?” the first man 
said. “He’s plumb crazy! He says he’s an inven- 
tor. He’s got the contraption in that wagon and he 
thinks we’re trying to steal it from him. All of us.” 

“An invention!” exclaimed Brand. “What does 
he suppose we want with his inventions?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the second man. 
“There may be something in it. It’s a machine for 
washing gold without labor. A kind of a wind-mill, 
or a water-wheel perhaps. I’ve had ideas myself of 
something of the sort. Anyhow, we don’t get it away 
from him without bloodshed. He was looking to 
his pistols when we left him.” 

Now such was the force of the gold dream that 
all of the men present suddenly took a more lenient 
view of Sourball’s behavior. The S. Brands had no 
animals that they could spare, but the two strangers 
who had last interviewed Sourball went back up the 
trail to return presently with a horse which they 
said they would lend him to take him into Salt Lake 
City, and so the road was once more open to travel 
and just at sunset the S. Brand outfit reached the 
mouth of the canon and caught their first view of the 
Mormon town. 

To them it was almost too beautiful to be real, 
with its red roofs shining in the mellow light, its 


The Trail is Blocked 


183 


green trees, its white walls, and, in the distance, the 
blue of the great lake and the purples of the far 
hills. 

“If Californy is better than this,” said Sam to 
Di, “I won’t need any Fairy-land.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


AT SALT LAKE CITY 

B UT Salt Lake City when it was reached proved 
not quite the dream city it had seemed from 
a distance. True, the streets were wide, with 
clear streams running down the middle or through 
the gutters. The houses were comfortable in com- 
parison to a tent or wagon, although many of them 
were only of white-washed logs and the best were 
made of sun-dried bricks plastered with mud. But 
the Mormons were gruff and suspicious, and far too 
keen in their bargaining. 

Brigham Young, seeing them established in com- 
fort after many hardships, had refused to let them 
listen to the lure of gold and set his face, among his 
people against mining. 

He judged, and rightly, that they would find more 
profit nearer home in trading with the hurrying 
throngs who would pass by them on their way to the 
gold fields. But in the beginning he did not com- 
mand honesty; rather he permitted the Mormons to 
feel that they did no wrong in cheating a Gentile, as 
they called the Christians, and it was not till the end 
of the gold rush, when their sharp practice threat- 
184 


At Salt Lake City 


185 


ened to lead to serious trouble, that he interfered 
to warn them against their favorite forms of 
thievery. 

Captain Brand had a quantity of cotton goods 
that he had hoped to trade for various supplies 
of which they stood in need. So Sam and he had 
brought these into Salt Lake City confident that 
they should be worth at least as much, if not indeed 
considerably more than they had cost them. They 
were met with pitying smiles. 

“Too bad you didn’t get in about a week ago, 
mister,” the store-keeper told them. “I’d a-give’ 
you anything you asked then. But today it’s diff’- 
rent. Prices are down. I’ve word that my agent at 
the Bay is shippin’ me in a full line of calicos. A 
vessel has just come round the Horn with a cargo of 
them.” 

And so it happened to all the other travelers. 
Goods that they wished to barter had shrunken in 
value till they were worth little or nothing. Sheet- 
ing, spades and shovels, which they had in abund- 
ance, the Mormons would hardly take at any price, 
at the same time warning the emigrants, with pre- 
tended good-will, that they must not burden them- 
selves with anything of weight, as they would be 
forced to abandon all excess in crossing the desert. 

“Gosh ding it!” Honest Tupper said, meeting 
the Brands after they had made their disappointing 
bargains at the best figures they could. “They’re 
askin’ Cronin a dollar a gallon for milk for his baby, 


186 


Diantha’s Quest 


and they tell him it ain’t no good to carry that little 
load of friction matches he’s got to the coast, ac- 
count of a ship that’s in with all the matches in the 
world aboard it But will they give him anything 
for his matches? No sir-ree, they won’t. Nor me 
for my heavy wagon. They’ll trade me a light one, 
worth no more than half as much for it, if I’ll throw- 
in a team and all my coffee. And they say I’d better 
get rid of my flour because it will be so full of bugs 
before we’re out of the Humboldt Sink that no one 
will buy it off me.” 

“I’ve got more than a-plenty of nails and tacks,” 
another man contributed, “but they don’t want them. 
It seems a ship-load arrived three weeks ago — ” 

“It appears to me a whole fleet must ’a’ come 
along loaded with all we happen to be carryin’,” 
Captain Brand remarked sceptically, “but we’re in 
their power. We got to take what they hand out to 
us I guess.” 

“Let’s pass the word around to hold off from 
tradin’ as much as possible,” T'upper said. “If we 
ain’t too eager — if they think we’re goin’ by with- 
out contributin’ to the Mormons — they’ll maybe 
ease up a trifle.” 

“They can’t hold us up any worse than they are 
doing,” a third man put in. “Asked me seventy- 
five cents for a pound of meat. Off the neck of an 
old steer, I reckon it must have been, ’cause it was 
only fit to make heels for my boots.” 

This brought a wry smile from the other victims 


187 


At Salt Lake City 

of the Mormon traders and they separated to spread 
their stories and the proposed plan. Sam went at 
once to find the Carters who were camped close to 
the Cronins in order that Mrs. Carter could over- 
see the sick baby. 

“Little Tim’s a great deal better!” Di cried out 
happily. “He’s very cunning when he’s well, and 
mama says all that he needs is proper food.” 

“Where is your mother?” Sam asked. “Has she 
tried to do any trading here yet?” 

“Has she?” Di exclaimed. “I should rather think 
she has! Uncle Toby and she are fairly sick about 
it. Do you know, Sam, even with the sixty dollars 
for my hair we won’t have enough to get our sup- 
plies here. Uncle Toby’s out now trying to find out 
what he could trade Snowflake and Argo for.” 

“Sell Snowflake and Argo!” For a moment Sam 
stood aghast. “Why Di, you’ll never get through 
the Sink without them! They say that the sand is 
up to the horses’ barrels.” 

“We’ll get through if we have to pack Sugar and 
Salt and walk!” Di declared setting her lips firmly. 
“You can always do a thing if you have to.” 

“Is there a woman here that does doctorin’?” 

The children turned at the words to see a man 
and woman, both dressed in dust-colored brown 
jeans which seemed to match their lustreless hair 
and sun-dried skins, who had come up to them noise- 
lessly. 

“There’s a lady here,” Sam bristled, his antagon- 


188 Diantha’s Quest 

ism to these Mormons needing little to make it 
active. 

“Do you wish to see my mother?” Di asked. 

“Yes,” said the man, “I suppose we do. We got 
a sick child.” 

The woman said nothing but she turned her eyes 
to Di with an appeal in them and threw back the 
folds of a shawl she carried to reveal a poor, wiz- 
ened little baby. 

“Mercy!” cried Di, “it is sick, isn’t it? I’ll call 
mother. She’s with the Cronin baby now, but it’s a 
great deal better and she won’t mind leaving it.” 

Di having been shocked by the baby’s appearance, 
Mrs. Carter came hurrying across without delay 
and held out her arms for the poor little atom. 

The mother made a move to surrender it to her, 
but her husband stopped ‘her. 

“I always make my bargains the first off,” he said. 
“So, before you touch the girl, what’s your charge 
for doctoring? And what do you ask for your 
drugs? Not that there’s any use of carryin’ them to 
the gold fields, for a ship has just arrived in from 
’round the Horn with a cargo of drugs, so you see 
you can’t expect fancy prices there, can you?” 

“I’m not in the habit of selling my help !” Mrs. 
Carter said icily, drawing back at once. “I give it 
freely to those who need it.” 

The man leered at her, unable to credit her simple 
words. 

“I’ve heard that sort of talk before,” he sneered. 


189 


At Salt Lake City 

“You Gentiles are so generous, ain’t you? If you 
don’t ask pay for your help, what do you ask for 
your drugs then ? I’m not fool enough to think you 
work without a wage.” 

“Mis’ Carter,” Sam interrupted, as she was about 
to speak, “accordin’ to these people there’s ship- 
loads of drugs and ship-loads of calicos and ship- 
loads of matches and everything else we have to 
sell; but everything they have to sell is mighty 
scarce and dear. Now you don’t sell your help nor 
your drugs, neither, to your friends; but then your 
friends don’t come here insultin’ you. I don’t see 
that you’re beholden to these — 

“Their baby’s sick, Sam,” Mrs. Carter spoke 
gently. 

“Yes’m,” said Sam, “I know it is; and I ain’t sug- 
gestin’ that you leave it to die nor nothin’ like that. 
Only I do think if you help them, these Mormons 
had ought to help you. You’ll never get to Cali- 
forny without Snowflake. The other mules wont 
be able to pull the wagon through the desert and 
keep up with the train. Honest to goodness, Mis’ 
Carter, you’d ought to make a bargain that if you 
tell them what to do for the child they’ll buy your 
supplies for you. They can get all you need for 
fhe money you have to spend, if they want to.” 

This was a very long speech for Sam to make, 
but both Mrs. Carter and Di recognized the force 
of his idea. Undoubtedly there were two prices 
current, one for Mormons and one for the emi- 


190 


Diantha’s Quest 


grants. If the Carter supplies could be bought at 
the Mormon rate it was more than possible that 
their money would secure all they needed and they 
could save their animals. 

“I’ll not do any buying for Gentiles!” the man 
snarled, but Mrs. Carter had been convinced by 
Sam’s reasoning and at once turned away, shrugging 
her shoulders. 

“That is for you to decide,” she said calmly. “It 
is the only price you can pay me for doctoring your 
baby.” 

The woman meanwhile was tugging at the man’s 
sleeve. 

“You’ll not let the child die,” she whispered. “It’s 
your first-born.” 

He looked down at the shrunken face on her arm 
almost resentfully. 

“Most like she was only born to die,” he said. 
“Why couldn’t we have hearty children like my 
brother’s? Come away.” 

“Oh, mother could cure it,” Di told the woman 
pityingly. “The Cronin baby was almost as sick as 
this, and you wouldn’t know him today. He’s quite 
pretty.” 

The woman did not answer her but turned again 
to the man. 

“It’ll not be held in your favor if you let her die,” 
she reminded him. “Children are as important in 
the sight of the Church as all your crops and herds !” 

“I’ll not traffic with Gentiles!” the man said 


At Salt Lake City 191 

surlily. “I’ve no belief they can do aught for the 
babe.” 

“There’s no need for you to move in the matter,” 
his wife said, with suppressed eagerness. “I can 
take their money and do their trading for them.” 

“And think you there will be no questions asked 
as to how you came by so much wealth?” her hus- 
band retorted, not yet ready to give his consent. 

“Have I not seven sisters,” his wife returned. “If 
each buys a part, no one will suspect aught, and,” 
she added in a lower tone, “t’will be a cheap doctor’s 
bill for us.” 

Whether this last was the argument that carried 
the day cannot be said. The man gave his permis- 
sion grudgingly, and the woman took Mrs. Carter’s 
lists and what money she dared spend. Di and Sam 
left them deep in consultation over the baby while 
they went off to seek Uncle Toby and tell him it was 
no longer necessary to sell his pet, Snowflake. 

“You know, Sam,” said Di, quite gravely, “I 
begin to think my fairy god-mother sent you to us. 
We certainly would never have gotten to California 
without you.” 

“Shucks!” said Sam, much embarrassed. “I 
haven’t done nothin’ — anything I mean. These 
Mormons are skinnin’ the life out of everyone who 
rides by in a prairie schooner. It just did me good 
to have somethin’ to sell ’em that they had to have. 
If I hadn’t known how soft your ma was over babies 
I’d a-tried to make ’em pay somethin’ to boot.” 


192 


Diantha’s Quest 


“She’d never have taken it,” Di declared, “and 
if they hadn’t given in she would have. I know 
mother. She could never in the world have kept her 
hands off that poor, miserable, little creature.” 


CHAPTER XVII 

IN THE WITCHES’ MOUNTAINS 

T HROUGH the Mormon woman the Carters 
managed to get a scanty supply of needful pro- 
visions but even with her help their money did 
not seem to go very far, although in the end they 
found themselves possessed of enough to carry them 
into California if they suffered no serious delays. 

So it was with fairly light hearts that they re- 
sumed their journey. The severest test was still be- 
fore them, but they faced it bravely. 

The first day was uneventful, the second brought 
them to the ferry at the Weber River. A big out- 
fit known as the “We’re Here’s” was ahead of them, 
and by the time each wagon had paid its four dollar 
fee and been ferried across, the day was half done. 

“These ferrymen along the route must be gettin’ 
rich,” Sam said to Di, who replied ruefully: 

“Everyone seems bent upon making money out of 
us poor emigrants.” 

“Do you remember what day it will be day after 
tomorrow?” the boy asked of a sudden, and then 
answered his own question. “The Fourth of July, 
and it won’t be much like it is at home, will it?” 


194 


Diantha’s Quest 


“I don’t know anything about Fourth of July cel- 
ebrations,” Di acknowledged. “You see, ever since 
I was very little, we’ve been off somewhere away 
from settlements, to be as near papa as we could.” 

“You’re mighty fond of your pa, ain’t you?” Sam 
said unexpectedly. 

“Fond of him!” For once Di was at a loss to 
express herself. “Why, Sam, I love him better than 
anything on earth!” 

“Better than you love your mother?” the boy 
asked. 

Di thought for a moment and when she spoke it 
was as if she were reasoning out loud. 

“If I am it is very unjust,” she said, “because 
mama is the best person in the world. She takes 
care of all of us. She looks after our health, and 
our clothes, and all the unpleasant things. And 
she’s taught me most of my lessons, because I 
haven’t ever lived near a school; but papa has taught 
me things, too. He taught me to ride and to swim 
a little and he wanted to teach me to shoot, only I 
didn’t like the noise. But those aren’t the things I 
mean. It was papa who told me all the old fairy 
tales and made me see things in my mind. He — he 
made the whole world more beautiful, Sam. You 
can’t help loving a person who does that for you, 
can you?” 

And Sam, conscious that his little companion had 
done that very thing for him, nodded understand- 
ingly. 


In the Witches’ Mountains 


195 


The “We’re Heres” and the “S. Brands” joined 
forces to celebrate the Fourth of July. An orator 
was selected and a horn was blown to assemble his 
audience. But just as the speaker mounted a feed- 
box to address the assemblage who should come 
along the trail but Sourball. 

“He’s found another horse as thin as old Crow- 
bait,” Captain Brand said, astonished, and would 
have let the man go by, but the orator of the day, 
knowing nothing of the recent controversy, thought 
otherwise. 

“ ’Light, friend, and join our celebration,” he 
said. “Independence Day comes but once a year, 
and all good Americans ought to hear the eagle flap 
its wings and scream!” 

Sourball turned a suspicious face toward the man. 

“So!” he mumbled. “And while I’m listening to 
you someone will be pokin’ into my wagon, nicht 
wahr ?” With which gracious remark he pushed 
on past them as rapidly as he could. 

The little Cronins saw something very funny in 
this and set up a shout of laughter; but Mrs. Carter 
looked grave. 

“That man is one of the tragedies of the trail,” 
she remarked to Di. “Think of the loneliness of all 
the miles past and to come.” 

“I don’t like to think of it,” said Di with a shiver, 
“and anyway it’s his own fault. Everyone would be 
friendly if he’d only let them.” 


196 


Diantha’s Quest 


“Of course,” Mrs. Carter agreed, ‘but it is his 
mind I fear for.” 

Just here she was interrupted, the oration being 
given a grand send-off by the We’re Heres who used, 
with telling effect, a small cannon they had brought 
for defensive purposes. The discourse, on the ac- 
customed lines, was vastly appreciated but it is pos- 
sible that Sam and Peter Cronin, and indeed some 
of the young men, liked the excuse for a little noise 
more than anything else. Peter had a horn and Sam 
and the men pistols, which were discharged to punc- 
tuate the discourse. 

“Wasn’t it fine ?” Sam asked Di when it was over, 
but Di disagreed. 

“Did you notice the Indians?” she inquired, for 
as usual the camp had attracted Indian visitors. “I 
felt the way they did. They vanished at the first 
shot of the cannon. I stayed, but it was only be- 
cause I had no place to run to.” 

“Goodness sakes!” cried young Peter Cronin. 
“You don’t mind a nice little cannon like that? I 
cannot think it of you.” Which remark brought 
roars of laughter from its hearers. 

‘There’s nothin’ the matter with this Fourth of 
July except the cold,” Seraphy Tupper said. “Not 
that I mind it. It gives me the chance to wear my 
velvet pelisse.” 

“The cold rids us of skeeters,” her sister Ruth 
put in. “If ever I cross the plains again I’ll have 
a skeeter net if I have nothin’ else.” 


In the Witches’ Mountains 


197 


“Will you wear it all the time?” Di asked. “You’ll 
look like a bride if you do.” 

“It wouldn’t be such a bad idea, though,” Melindy 
conceded. “A veil in front of my beaver bonnet 
would ha’ kept me from havin’ a skin as speckled as 
a guinea-hen’s egg.” 

“Are we goin’ to lay off all day, Sam?” Seraphy 
inquired. “Seems to me we’ll never get to Californy 
at this rate. I was talkin’ to a young feller who 
passed us on horseback yesterday. The J. C. Richy 
Company, I think they were called. They aimed 
to get there in about thirty days from now.” 

“That’s the way Dad and I would go if we had 
to do it again,” Sam said. “No wagons to hold you 
back. But o’ course there’s lots of arguments 
against it. For one thing you’ve got no roof but the 
sky, no matter what the weather is — ” 

“Are we goin’ on today, Perfessor?” Seraphy cut 
in. “Not that I’d go for to interrup’ your lecture; 
but ma wants to know on account of the cookin’. We 
finished off our last batch of biscuits by clappin’ them 
in the wagon-box only half done but terrible hot, 
and ma don’t hold with that way o’ cookin’. She 
’lows it’s unhealthy.” 

“We’re a-goin’ on,” Sam said. “Dad thought it 
was best, though he didn’t insist, seein’ that this is a 
legal holiday; but all the others voted to push ahead, 
so it’s settled. Your pa must know it.” 

“Yes — , but ma ain’t no clairy-voy-ant like they 
have at the circus,” Seraphy laughed. “Pa’s idea 


198 


Diantha’s Quest 


of the time to tell us we’re movin’ is when he cracks 
his whip at the mules.” 

The train soon got under way again but progress 
was slow. They struck steep roads where it was 
necessary to rope each wagon and ease it down to 
avoid upsets. In other places the dust reached 
their boot-tops and the number of dead animals they 
passed steadily increased. The days were unbear- 
ably hot, the nights very cold, blankets and wagon- 
tops being covered with frost, and the snow-capped 
mountains on their left seemed to march with them, 
for they could not leave them behind. 

In places water was scarce. Indeed in one camp 
they would have had none had it not been for 
Uncle Toby, who skimmed three inches of frog slime 
from a pool and found tolerable wafer beneath. 
Now, for the first time, the S. Brands had reason 
to be seriously anxious about their animals, who grew 
bony and weak as the grass thinned and dried up. 

The Indians also gave greater occasion for alarm. 
Their thefts were bolder, and word was sent back 
that a wagon train ahead had been attacked, horses 
stolen and men wounded. So the S. Brands oiled 
their guns and placed them in readiness; but no at- 
tack came. 

“That’s the last of our sugar, Miss Di,” Uncle 
Toby announced one morning as Di helped herself 
to sugar for her pony. 

“Then I’ll save my share for Argo,” Di returned 
promptly; but she looked grave as she turned away. 


In the Witches’ Mountains 


199 


Were all their calculations as much out as this? 
Sam who rode up on Dots just them, met her with 
an equally grave face. 

“The Cronins lost four horses last night,” he 
said. “They’ll have to leave one wagon behind, 
that’s certain.” 

“Did the Indians get them?” Di asked. 

“No,” Sam replied, “they just petered out. Died 
in their sleep, I guess. Anyhow they’re stiff now, 
and the Cronins are sortin’ out what they can do 
without.” 

Inwardly Di wondered if they were leaving sugar 
behind them, but she was too proud to beg and she 
knew that her mother had no money to waste on 
that luxury, so she held her peace. 

“This is an awful place,” Sam said disconsolately, 
digging up the sand with his toe. “Nothin’ but 
sage brush and prickly pear, and prickly pear and 
sage brush! Dad says we’re to travel at night now 
to save the beasts, an’ there’s no real grass this side 
the Sink.” 

“Everything is brown and gloomy,” Di agreed. 
“I think this must be the Sad Plain of the Bad 
Fairies, Sam, in which case the mountains they’re 
always fussing about must be the Witches’ Moun- 
tains, and on the other side of them we’ll find Fairy- 
land.” 

“You talk as if we were traveling through your 
map,” Sam grunted, “whereas it is mine we’re fol- 
lowing. The real Congresh’nal map !” 


200 


Diantha’s Quest 


“How do you know?” Di demanded. “ We may 
be lost! People on quests ’most always are, sooner 
or later.” 

“Well, if it is your map we ought soon to come 
to the Wishing-well,” Sam suggested. 

“And if we do,” Di warned him, “you must men- 
tion it to no one. And you must be sure to have 
the right wish ready, because it is the first wish you 
get and no other.” 

“Huh,” said Sam, “there won’t be any chance of 
mistake about my wish. I know what I want right 
enough! It’s — .” 

“Don’t tell me,” Di cut in, in alarm. “It must be 
a secret wish. You’ll never get it if you tell what 
it is.” 

“Oh, I ’low I can keep it to myself,” Sam laughed, 
“but ’spose I find the well and you don’t? Mayn’t 
I tell you where it is?” 

Di considered this point seriously for a moment. 

“No,” she said, decidedly at last, “I’m afraid you 
mustn’t. You see, in fairy tales, things have such a 
way of vanishing if you speak.” 

“Like the mirage?” Sam suggested. 

“Exactly,” Di agreed, “but I’ll tell you what we 
can do. We can point. I don’t see how that could 
do any harm.” 

The road now lay up and down sandy bluffs where 
the teams sank in to a depth of almost two feet. The 
S. Brands lost no more horses, but they constantly 
saw dead animals by the road side and the neces- 


In the Witches’ Mountains 


201 


sity of pressing forward made it impossible to 
spare their own as they would have wished. Indeed 
the way seemed a succession of difficulties well-nigh 
impossible to surmount. 

They passed the Sixteen-mile Desert to find that 
there was no grass on the far side, and here befell a 
most serious occurrence. A number of horses, in- 
cluding Argo, had been turned out to graze in charge 
of an old man named Silas Warner, who allowed 
himself to drop asleep. The hungry animals wan- 
dered back over the trail in a vain search for their 
former range, and were never recovered. 

Di was greatly distressed at the loss of Argo, but 
took some comfort out of the fact that being an 
Indian pony and used to shifting for himself, there 
was a chance that he might repass the desert and 
escape with his life. 

The other animals were looked on as good as 
dead, and, to meet this difficulty, heavy articles and 
warm clothing were thrown away, wagons cut down 
or abandoned, and once more the S. Brands trailed 
on. 

All cattle now had to be constantly watched or tied 
to the wagons when camp was made. They would lie 
down for two or three hours, then start up and try to 
go back, as Argo and the others had done, to a land 
of plenty. 

Moreover Mrs. Carter found her hands full. 
Scurvy had broken out here and there, and once 
more little Tim Cronin was very ill. Most of her 


202 


Diantha’s Quest 


time was spent with him, and Di rode in the wagon 
alone. The load was very light now and the white 
mules were doing splendidly; but she missed Argo 
and her rides ahead of the wagon-train and she 
hated the long hot days in camp. 

The sixty-five mile desert still lay before them. 
Kegs had to be filled with water for its passage and 
it was decided to graze the cattle once more and to 
make such hay as they could at the first likely spot. 

Mrs. Carter, returning to her own wagon at day- 
break for a cup of coffee, was anxiously questioned 
by Di about the baby whose frail little life had be- 
come dear to them all; but her mother had nothing 
very encouraging to say. 

“Timmy is very sick, Di dear,” she told her. 
“Very sick indeed. He’s never been as ill as this 
before. I can’t quite give up hope, but I don’t 
know — I don’t know.” 

Mrs. Carter drank her coffee and returned to stay 
with Mrs. Cronin, and a little later Di sprang out 
and joined the Tupper girls who were plodding be- 
side their wagon. 

“Poor little Timmy Cronin,” said Clara Bell, 
“have you seen him, Di? He’s all eyes. I think 
even your ma can’t save him this time.” 

Just then Annie Cronin, crying bitterly, came run- 
ning toward them through the dust and slipped her 
hand in Di’s. 

“Timmy’s dyin,” she sobbed. “They said I was 


In the Witches’ Mountains 


203 


to go to you. They won’t let me stay with him, and 
he’s my own baby brother, that he is.” 

The Tupper girls exchanged pitying glances. 

“He’s goin’,” they whispered. “Only magic can 
save him now.” 

Di’s heart seemed to stand still with the sadness of 
it. That tiny baby, for whose life they had all helped 
to fight, would be left behind, one more little lonely 
mound in the vast wilderness. A sob rose in her 
throat, but she did not wish Annie to see her cry. 

“Take care of Annie for a little,” she muttered 
to Seraphy, and dashed ahead of the slowly moving 
wagons. She must have a few minutes to pull her- 
self together. Death had never come into her life 
before and she saw only the horror of it. 

As she distanced the dust she met Sam on Polka 
Dots, swinging his hat violently to attract her at- 
tention. 

“Hop up behind me!” he called excitedly. His 
manner took Di out of herself. There was some- 
thing that had stirred Sam to the depths, that was 
evident, and Di obeyed him unhesitatingly. 

“What is it?” she asked, when she was safely 
mounted, and they were moving swiftly toward the 
summit of the next rise. 

“Don’t ask no questions,” said Sam sternly. 
“You’ll see for yourself.” 

And when the summit was reached he reined in 
Dots in silence and pointed. 

Below them, marked in black and green on the 


204 Diantha’s Quest 

grey plain, was the cabalistic figure Di had seen in 
her dream. 

A small and perfectly circular pool formed the 
middle. Burnt wagons assembled at its sides marked 
the arms of a cross and a ring of bushes made the 
outer circle. The figure was complete and, seen 
from the eminence on which they stood, unmistak- 
able. 

“It’s the Wishing-well!” she murmured. 

Sam paused for only a moment, then he spurred 
Dots on again and when the side of the pool was 
reached Di slipped from the pony’s back and 
leaned over the water. 

“Nothing will save Timmy but magic,” seemed to 
ring in her ears and she took a sip of the water and 
made a wish, throwing a tiny pebble into the pool 
as she did so. Then she turned a face of woe to 
Sam and said. “I wished another wish — and now 
perhaps I’ll never, never find my father after all.” 

“Not find your father!” Sam gasped, forgetting 
everything else at the sight of such grief where he 
had expected only joy. “What do you mean, Di?” 

“That was my greatest wish,” Di sobbed. “I want 
him more than anything in the world and I some- 
how believed that if I could find a wishing-well I 
was bound to find him, too. But when you brought 
me to the well there was something else I was forced 
to wish. And now I feel as if I’d thrown away my 
chance to find papa.” She flung herself on the 


In the Witches’ Mountains 


205 


ground, sobbing, and Sam looked at her helplessly, 
quite unable to attempt any comfort. 

“Do you mean you don’t know where your father 
is?” he demanded at last, trying with knit brows to 
master the situation. 

“No,” sobbed Di, “we don’t know at all. He 
went on a trapping and exploring expedition. We 
heard from him once after they had happened to 
cross the mountains into California. He sent money 
and a long letter then; but that was almost two 
years ago. About a year later came the map. Noth- 
ing else. So mother thought there was something 
wrong and we decided to try to hunt for him. And 
now I’ve given him up ! I’ve deserted him.” 

“Nonsense!” said Sam, sturdily. “You’ve not 
given him up. You’ll just have to hunt for him 
harder than ever, that’s all.” 

But Di was not to be comforted. She did not 
often lose her self-control, but when she did it was 
hard for her to regain it and Sam watched her in 
sympathy and anxiety. Suddenly a thought came 
to him. His face lit up and he went over to the 
pool and, raising some water in his hand as he had 
seen Di do, he too registered a wish. Then, with 
a look of satisfaction, he returned to Di. 

“Here come the wagons,” he said. “You won’t 
want all the people to find you cryin’.” 

“I don’t care,” Di returned. “They’ll only 
think it’s because of Timmy.” 


206 Diantha’s Quest 

“What’s the matter?” asked Sam with a start “Is 
he worse?” 

“He was,” Di answered. “I hope he’s better 
now.” 

And Sam, divining what the need was that had 
forced Di to abandon the wish of her heart, rejoiced 
at the inspiration that had come to him to set the 
matter right. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

NEWS OF MR. CARTER 

W HATEVER the cause may have been there 
was no doubt that little Timmy Cronin had 
taken a turn for the better. The S. Brand 
outfit reached the pool in excellent spirits. The 
baby had a hold on the hearts of everyone and the 
rough men, whose toil might have made them indif- 
ferent to the fortunes of this tiny bit of humanity, 
were as anxious for his welfare as the women in the 
party. So, when Mrs. Carter let it be known that 
her patient was improving, the fatigues of the day 
were forgotten for a time in the feeling of elation 
that seized them all. It seemed to many that the 
success of their caravan would be worth less to 
them if they could not keep life in the smallest mem- 
ber of the band. 

Just before she lay down in her wagon to take 
a much needed rest after her long vigil, Mrs. Car- 
ter had a moment with Diantha. 

“He’s truly better, mama?” Di asked anxiously. 
“Decidedly!” her mother answered. “Babies, of 
course, recover very quickly when once they start to 
improve, but somehow, with Timmy it seemed al- 
207 


208 


Diantha’s Quest 


most a miracle. He lay in my arms, scarcely breath- 
ing, and then, as I watched him with no hope left, 
he opened his eyes and I could feel the vitality re- 
turning to his frail little body. He’s still sick, but 
I think he will recover now.” 

Di’s nerves were all on edge and she wanted to 
be alone. Privacy was impossible in the camp, so 
she walked back up the trail, full of her own thoughts 
and anxious to be out of sight and hearing of the 
busy gathering. 

She was glad, of course, that Timmy was better. 
It would have been too sad if her sacrifice had been 
for naught, but that her wish had come true so 
quickly brought a sharp pang of regret that she 
could not stifle. It seemed to prove that, had she 
expressed the desire nearest her own heart, the 
father she longed to see might have been with her 
at that moment. 

“At any rate I should at least have had news of 
him by this time,” she told herself. 

Scarcely thinking what she was doing, Diantha 
had left the trail and seated herself on a huge 
boulder overlooking the road. Here the jingle of 
an approaching pack-train interrupted her thoughts 
and she idly watched a line of horses following each 
other up the steep grade. Presently she was sur- 
prised to see a mounted man detach himself from 
his fellows and ride toward her. 

“Anything wrong?” he asked as he reached her 
side. 


News of Mr. Carter 


209 


There was more than a hint of anxiety in the 
question, which was wholly natural. The Humboldt 
Desert, through which they traveled, had been the 
scene of many disasters, and would see more. It 
was quite within the bounds of possibility that an 
entire party might perish before aid reached them. 
Di understood this perfectly and hastened to reas- 
sure her questioner. 

“No, there’s nothing wrong,” she said, rising. 
“The rest of the party are on ahead.” 

“Seeing you alone this way I was wondering,” 
the man explained, and then, with a quizzical glance 
at the girl, “weren’t you the little miss who gave 
our outfit her coffee a while back?” 

“Oh, yes!” Di exclaimed, realizing now why the 
face before her had seemed so familiar. “You’re — 
you’re — .” 

“I’m J. B. Smith,” he cut in. “I told you most 
likely we’d catch up with your outfit again.” 

“I remember,” Di replied, brightening. “You 
promised mama you’d try to think where you’d heard 
of my father.” 

“It came back to me, all right,” Mr. Smith went 
on. “Just as I said it would, and I did write it 
down, though there’s no chance that I’d forget it 
now. Well then, there was a Captain Carter who 
got past the Apaches and crossed into California 
down south near the Santa Catalina mission. Do 
you suppose that could have been your father?” 

“I certainly think it was,” Di responded, with 


210 


Diantha’s Quest 


growing excitement at this news. “We had a letter 
from him posted at San Diego which is in southern 
California.” 

“Then I guess there’s no doubt of it,” Mr. Smith 
continued. “If you had just mentioned Captain Car- 
ter I would have recollected at once; but I don’t see 
how they came to let a letter get through.” 

“I don’t understand,” Di puckered her brow. 
“Who could keep it from us?” 

“The Mexicans,” her companion replied. “You 
see that was before the war was ended, and they 
held your pa one day because he was an American 
spy and another because he was a spy from old 
Spain.” 

“You mean my father was a prisoner!” Di 
spoke excitedly. 

“Sure !” said the man. “Didn’t he say anything 
about that?” 

“No,” answered Di, “he didn’t. He only wrote 
that he couldn’t come back to us for the present. So 
he sent us money — now I remember — he said, ‘by 
the hand of a friend who was going to Panama from 
the Port of San Diego’. But papa was never a spy.” 

“Of course not,” J. B. Smith agreed, “but he 
broke into the country at a bad time. They didn’t 
know which they hated worse about then, Ameri- 
cans or Spaniards.” 

“But father had nothing to do with Spaniards,” 
Di protested. 

“He spoke Spanish, didn’t he?” Smith asked. 


News of Mr. Carte 


211 


“Yes,” said Di. “At one time he did most of his 
hunting and trading in New Mexico.” 

“Well,” Smith went on, “this is what happened. 
He and a small party of men came into California 
by accident, as you might say. They’d run out of 
food and nearly died of thirst in the desert, but they 
got there alive. At first they were treated all right 
enough, if not cordially, but one night they inter- 
fered in an affair that made them unpopular with 
the authorities.” 

“Yes,” said Di, “go on.” 

“There was a very rich hidalgo, a ranchero of 
course, who owned miles of land in the neighborhood 
of the San Gabriel Mission. He was suspected of 
having more fondness for Spain than for the Mexi- 
can Republic and this did not make him a favorite 
with the government. So they planned to seize his 
only son, who was on a visit to San Diego, and hold 
him for a ransom.” 

“But how could the government do a thing like 
that?” Di demanded. 

“Their government did things without bothering 
about rights and wrongs,” Smith declared, shrug- 
ging his shoulders. “Anyhow, they prepared an am- 
bush for the young man. He walked into it, and 
your father and his men sailed in and rescued him, 
spoiling all their plans.” 

“That’s just the sort of thing my father would 
do!” declared Di with flashing eyes. “Well, that 
fixed them, didn’t it?” 


212 


Dianfha’s Quest 


“No, it fixed him,” Smith answered grimly. “The 
authorities vowed he was a brigand who had 
waylaid the young man; that he was a spy — just 
whose spy changed from day to day — planning to 
carry the young caballero out of the country and 
mulct his father of a fortune. And the only thing 
that kept them from executing your pa out of hand 
was the young man himself.” 

“Of course,” said Di with a sigh of relief, “he 
knew who had really attacked him.” 

“He did,” Smith continued, “but remember, he 
had to fight a government, which was none too fond 
of him already. However the young gentleman 
sent for his father, who saw through the whole 
crafty business at once and took the only way pos- 
sible to fight it. He called in the Church!” 

“The Church!” Di was puzzled. 

“The Roman Catholic Church,” Smith explained. 
“Though the hidalgo wasn’t popular with the gov- 
erment and the military he was with the Church. 
It had no cause to complain of his generosity, and if 
your father hadn’t been a heretic — that’s a Protest- 
ant — there’d have been no further trouble. Even as 
it was he and his men were finally paroled in the 
custody of the hidalgo, with the understanding that 
they would not leave the country. He was still on 
the hidalgo’s rancho, Buenos Aguas, when I heard 
this story.” 

“Heard this story?” Di echoed in surprise. 
“Didn’t you see my father?” 


News of Mr. Carter 


213 


“No,” Mr. Smith explained. “I had the tale 
from a rough, bragging sort of ne’er-do-well. It 
was just after gold was found at Sutter’s saw-mill, 
and I got the fever as everybody else did. I went 
down to the Bay to outfit before going up to the 
diggings, and it was there I ran into this man I’m 
telling you about. The town was pretty empty, but 
there were enough people left to keep a game going 
in almost every shack. It seemed as if finding gold 
had set everybody gambling in one way or another. 

“Well, I was sitting down one evening watching 
four fellows playing cards. One of them was this 
man I spoke of and he was losing everything he had. 
When his last cent was apparently gone he opened 
a package that was all done up for the express com- 
pany and took out a lot more money. But his luck 
didn’t change and pretty soon he was cleaned out 
entirely. 

“I was tired by this time and started off to turn 
in for the night, when this hard-luck party followed 
me out and began to beg me to grub-stake him to 
the mines. Now a man who gambles with the money 
he has put by for his wife and children isn’t one to 
be trusted, so I refused him, flat. But he wouldn’t 
let me alone. He promised to pay me back even if 
he didn’t make a strike. Said he had a good job 
down in the south and told me about the Buenos 
Aguas Rancho. He related this story of Captain 
Carter, explaining that he had been sent up north 


214 Diantha’s Quest 

on an errand but didn’t mean to go back till he’d 
made his pile. 

“To tell the truth I didn’t believe a word of it, but 
now that I’ve met you and your mother I think may- 
be there’s something in it. Anyway I didn’t stake 
him. He wasn’t my kind of a man.” 

“But who was he?” Di asked. 

“He was one of your father’s trappers,” Smith 
explained. “I guess he told me everything that had 
ever happened to him except his name. He seemed 
a little shy about that.” 

“Why should he be?” Di asked curiously. “He 
wasn’t a slave. Now that the war has ended and 
California belongs to the United States, they aren’t 
on parole any more, are they?” 

“No,” Smith agreed, “I s’pose no one could make 
him go back. But he may have had his own reasons. 
At any rate, Missy, that’s all I know. I’ve written 
it all out and it’s in one of my alforjas. I’ll leave 
the paper for your mother as I go by.” 

“Aren’t you going to make a stop here?” Di 
asked, disappointed. 

“No,” said Smith. “I’ll have to hustle along to 
catch up as it is, and I’ve told you all I know. Your 
father was at the Buenos Aguas Rancho a little over 
a year ago. If he hasn’t lit out for the diggings like 
the rest of us, he’s there yet, most likely.” 

“Mother’s asleep,” Di told him. “She’s been 
nursing a sick baby and needs the rest badly. I’d 


News of Mr. Carter 


215 


hate to wake her unless there’s something else you 
can think of.” 

“If you want to ask me anything a letter will al- 
ways reach me at Sutter’s Fort. J. B. Smith’s the 
name. Don’t forget the J. B. It’s no use to disturb 
Mrs. Carter, that’s all I know of the matter. I’ll 
drop the paper for her at the camp.” 

Smith waved his hat and his horse loped off, leav- 
ing a thick trail of dust behind, while Di sat down 
to consider this news. 

To her mind it was very good. It located her 
father at least six months or more later than their 
last previous word of him. In fact it seemed that 
the map must have been sent while her father was 
at the rancho. 

What puzzled her now was why no letter had ac- 
companied the map. Surely if he could send the 
one he could send the other. The only conclusion 
she could come to was that he had written and the 
letter had miscarried. And of course it was always 
possible that other letters had arrived since they 
had left the East. 

But now she felt that they had a real starting- 
point from which to search for him, and she took 
her way back to camp greatly cheered. 

Sam, who had been wondering where she was, 
came to meet her and read her face at a glance. 

“Someone has told you the baby’s better!” he ex- 
claimed. 


216 


Diantha’s Quest 


“Yes,” said Di, “and oh, Sam, another splendid 
thing has happened! I’ve had good news of father!” 

She poured out her tale to an accompaniment of 
whistling. Sam wasn’t going to run any risk of 
breaking the charm of the magic well by saying a 
word, but it was all he could do to contain himself, 
so he had recourse to his usual safety valve. 

“That’s right!” cried Di. “Whistle, Sam, whistle! 
Make up something glad, and triumphant and 
thankful, like a bird that sees the sun rise on a beau- 
tiful day in Spring. I wish I could do it for myself, 
but I’ve only words to do it with, and they aren’t 
enough.” 

So the boy whistled joyously for his friend, with 
never a regretful note for the ambitions he had re- 
linquished when he made his unselfish wish. 


CHAPTER XIX 


SOURBALL IN TROUBLE 

T HE J. B. Smith pack train had told the S. 
Brands of a meadow about thirty-five miles dis- 
tant where they could make hay, but warned 
them that they would not see a spear of grass till 
they got there, a prediction which they found to 
have been literally true, when finally they reached 
their goal. 

The camp was made and the men went hay mak- 
ing; but as the meadow was marshy and it was nec- 
essary to carry the grass about a mile through water 
) three feet deep, Uncle Toby was too old for the 
work and Mrs. Carter’s thin purse was opened to 
pay an Indian for bringing forage for the mules. 

“We will get to California penniless!” she ex- 
claimed with a worn smile. 

“Never mind so long as we get there,” said Di. 
“I never wanted to find gold before, but now I mean 
to dig enough to take us to papa.” 

“Wonderful miners we’d make,” Mrs. Carter 
laughed bravely, “but oh, Di, it’s something to 
know where he was a year ago, isn’t it?” 

They started again in the cool of the evening 
217 


218 


Diantha’s Quest 


and, coming to a slough, took in a fresh supply of 
water but the number of deserted wagons increased 
as they progressed and it was noticeable that their 
owners no longer wasted energy in destroying what 
they left behind. Indeed death camps were a com- 
mon sight and were avoided for fear of pestilence. 
The abandoned wagons, with their dead animals be- 
side them, told all too plainly that one more party 
had been forced to press onward carrying all their 
possessions on their backs. 

Even the S. Brands were not to escape this entire- 
ly. Step by step along the way one after another 
had thrown out cherished treasures. Those who had 
had two wagons had been reduced to one. The 
Cronins had been loaned one of the Carters’ mules 
to enable them to keep going at all. The Tupper’s 
riding horses had taken their place in teams, too 
broken spirited to protest. At one point there was 
a dead animal for every hundred yards of road, 
and a hundred thousand dollars would not have 
paid for the valuables which lay abandoned within 
twenty miles. Such was the dreaded Humboldt 
Sink. 

“It’s like a horrid dream,” Di sighed. 

“We have a great deal to be thankful for,” her 
mother reminded her. “We’re all alive and fairly 
well, even little Tim Cronin.” 

“Dad and I are goin’ to leave our wagon at 
the next camp,” Sam announced, “there’s just a 


Sourball in Trouble 


219 


chance, if we do, that the horses will live to get 
over the mountains.” 

“We’ll soon be nothing but a pack-train,” Mrs. 
Carter declared, forcing a smile. 

“We’ll soon be in California,” Di said sturdily. 

“That’s the way to talk,” Sam cried. “In this 
old desert it doesn’t seem as if we were getting any- 
where; but most of it is behind us already.” 

“There’s a trader come along with water,” Uncle 
Toby suggested anxiously. “He ain’t askin’ so much 
neither, considerin’ how far he’s packed it.” The 
old man’s heart was set upon getting his mules 
through alive, as Mrs. Carter knew well. 

“How much is it, Uncle Toby?” she asked. 

“A dollar a gallon,” he said. “Two gallons, Li” 
Miss will do a lot to cheer those mules up. That’s a 
gallon each.” 

“You’re forgetting Salt,” his mistress said, taking 
her last three dollars from her purse and giving 
them to him. 

“ ’Pears like the Cronins ought to buy water for a 
mule they’s drivin,” Uncle Toby suggested. 

“They would if they could, Uncle Toby,” Mrs. 
Carter told him, “but they haven’t the money.” 

“I gwine be mighty happy when I see Marse 
Charles,” the old man muttered as he turned away. 
A poor Carter he could understand but a Carter 
absolutely without resources he had never had to 
consider before. Always, from somewhere, what 
they wanted had been forthcoming, and Uncle Toby 


220 Diantha’s Quest 

was a little old, and slow at accepting this new situa- 
tion. 

Although they were not yet out of the desert the 
breaking up of the S. Brand party began here. Some 
of the younger men, who had been forced to abandon 
their wagons, asked and received permission of 
Captain Brand to push on to the mines with pack 
animals. The protection of numbers was no longer 
a necessity as it was on the plains, and it was not 
fair to hold those able to travel faster to the pace of 
the loaded prairie schooners. Sam and Captain 
Brand might have gone on with this party to their 
own advantage, but the latter was not one to take 
his responsibilities lightly. He had accepted the 
leadership of the train and, until they were safely 
over the Sierras, he could not feel himself free. 

A few days later the white mules began to throw 
up their heads and bray, regardless of the heavy 
sand through which they were plowing. 

“They sure smell water!” Uncle Toby cried, and 
when the banks of the Carson river were reached at 
last they could hardly wait to be unharnessed before 
plunging into the stream. Indeed many of the men 
ran in fully clothed and were none the worse for it. 

“I felt as if I were a sponge sopping up water,” 
Sam explained to Di. “I think the old desert had 
dried up even the marrow in my bones.” 

A day’s rest with plentiful water seemed to do 
wonders for all, and they pressed on again, eager to 
be over the Sierras. Already they began to feel 


Sourball in Trouble 


221 


themselves near their journey’s end, for they met 
traders, just twelve days out from Sacramento City, 
who offered them flour at a dollar and a half a 
pound; sugar at a dollar and a quarter; and bacon at 
a dollar. 

The Carters were on short rations, but it was use- 
less to look longingly at these luxuries. They had 
no money and they must get along as best they could 
till they were able to sell the mules and wagon in 
California. 

A Mormon station, reached that afternoon, 
offered sugar and bacon at one dollar and seventy- 
five cents, an increase on the traders’ prices. The 
people there were also very generous with unasked- 
for advice. 

According to them it was useless to try to take the 
wagons on from that point. Of course they could 
not buy them, or any surplus stores the emigrants 
had. They were overstocked already and the end of 
the season was in sight; but the S. Brands would find 
they needed seven teams at least to get one wagon 
over the summit. That was sure ! 

Captain Brand consulted the other men and they 
all finally came to the conclusion that the story was 
probably nothing more than the usual Mormon lie. 
But the next day, when they went on again, they 
found there was too much truth in it for comfort. 
The road defied description. There were rocks the 
size of sugar barrels, and, with eight feet of snow 
at the summit, the cold was intense and the heavy 


222 


Diantha’s Quest 


clothing thrown away on the plains was badly missed. 

The cattle were utterly fagged when they had sur- 
mounted this ridge and camp was made for the night 
in the first valley. 

“These are the Witches’ Mountains, all right,” 
Sam said to Di; “I wonder if we could turn these 
stones into Lords and Princes if we had a fairy wand 
to touch them with?” 

“I’m sure we could,” Di answered. “They look 
like that. We ought soon to hear the voice of some 
noble prisoner mourning at his captivity. Listen !” 
she held up her finger. 

They had walked on a short distance as they 
talked and now were somewhat above the camp from 
which, in the stillness they heard a low murmur; 
but nearer than that, and farther on toward the west, 
there came to them an unmistakable groan. 

“What was that?” asked Di sharply, moving 
closer to Sam for company. 

“I — I don’t know,” answered the boy, infected 
by her nervousness. 

Again came the groan and Sam reached for his 
pistol. 

“You go back to camp. I’ve got to see what it 
is.” 

“I’m going with you,” Di declared. “You’ve only 
to shoot off your pistol to bring help — and we can 
run if it’s anything queer,” she added as an after- 
thought. 

Cautiously the two advanced along the road and 


Sourball in Trouble 


223 


peered down Into a small box-canon from whence 
the sound proceeded. Then they drew back and 
looked at each other in astonishment. 

“It’s Sourball,” said Sam at last. 

“What do you think’s the matter with him?” Di 
inquired. 

“He and his wagon have gone over the edge,” 
Sam declared. “We’ll have to find out how much 
he’s hurt.” 

“Call down to him,” Di suggested. 

“Hi, down there!” he shouted, but received no 
answer. 

“Whistle !” Di commanded, and Sam sent forth a 
piercing blast. 

“Do you hear me?” he shouted again. “Are you 
hurt?” But again there was no answer although 
the groaning had stopped. 

“We’ll have to go down,” said Di. “There’s no 
help for it. Anyhow the side of the hill isn’t much 
more dangerous than the road.” 

So together, slipping, sliding and jumping, they 
at last reached the overturned wagon. Sourball 
was seated beside it, but did not welcome their ap- 
proach with any marked enthusiasm. 

“Are you hurt?” Sam asked. 

“Not much,” returned the man sullenly. 

“We came down to see if we could help you,” Di 
suggested. 

“You would do nothing when I had money to 


224 


Diantha’s Quest 


pay,” he returned showing that he recognized them. 
“You’re little likely to be useful now.” 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Di said. “We 
were always willing to do what we could.” 

“What happened to you?” Sam asked curiously. 

“I’d lost one horse, so I harnessed myself with the 
other and made shift to come this far,” Sourball re- 
plied. “The last horse was taken with something 
like the staggers and plunged over the edge, carry- 
ing me and everything I had in the world with it.” 

The picture of this fierce, oldish man harnessed 
to his wagon side by side with his half-starved horse 
etched itself on Di’s mind. It seemed horrible to her 
that he should have come so far to be beaten at the 
last. 

“We’re short of horses,” she said thoughtfully. 
“I think they’re deciding now to leave at least half 
the wagons here and double-team; but mother and 
I have very little goods left. Tell me about your 
machine. Is it heavy?” 

The sympathy in the young voice pierced even the 
crusty man’s armor. 

“It’s not so heavy,” he returned, “but I’ve not 
dared to look if it’s smashed.” He got up now and 
hobbled over to his wagon. This was a light affair 
and beyond a wheel torn from the hub, seemed little 
the worse. The horse however was dead without a 
doubt. 

“If we cut your beast out of the harness,” Sam 
said,” we might be able to right the wagon.” 


Sourball in Trouble 


225 


“Aye,” agreed Sourball, “but once we turn it 
over it will start down hill again.” 

“How would it be,” Di suggested eagerly, “if we 
cut away the canvas top and any lashings that hold 
your goods in the wagon? Then if you throw the 
wagon off, they will be left behind.” 

“There’s sense in that,” Sourball said approvingly, 
and they all set busily to work, the man forgetting his 
bruises in the hope of salvaging his beloved inven- 
tion. 

The plan worked successfully, and as the wagon 
went crashing down hill his machine lay revealed. 
Di’s heart sank, for to her eye it was an utter wreck; 
but Sourball ran his hands over it lovingly and de- 
clared there was nothing wrong that a few days’ 
work would not set right again. So it was carefully 
wrapped in the canvas top and roped to a pole in or- 
der that two or more men could carry it up the moun- 
tainside to the road. Sam and he tried to lift it but 
the boy, although sturdy, was not strong enough, 
and it was decided to leave it where it was for the 
night and arrange to have it picked up next day. 

Sourball’s scanty supply of food was next gathered 
together to be carried into camp ; but, when it came 
to the point, he was unable to make up his mind to 
desert his invention. 

“I’ll sleep with it,” he said, somewhat shamefaced- 
ly, “I’d not rest easy away from it; but if you can 
take me on with you I’ll be — ” he hesitated before 


226 


Diantha’s Quest 


he brought out the unaccustomed word, “grateful !” 
he ended, and turned away. 

“I’m sure mother will manage it,” Di called after 
him, then Sam and she raced excitedly back to camp. 

“Mother dear,” she cried on reaching their wagon, 
“Sam and I have rescued a captive from the Witches 
of the Mountain. Truly we have! It’s old Sour- 
ball and, you’ll never believe it, but he’s something 
of a pet !” 


CHAPTER XX 


THE END OF THE TRAIL 

O F course the discovery of Sourball in such a 
plight added one more burden to the S. 
Brands’ portion, but no one dissented from 
Di’s decision. Having come so far through sheer 
dogged grit, for the man had never been properly 
equipped, it seemed to everyone that he deserved to 
be helped through to the gold fields. And there was 
no grudging the aid that was accorded to him 
when Di’s cheerful “Here’s Mr. Ball now,” stopped 
the train where he awaited them by the roadside. 

“You’ve had a bad shaking up, Ball,” Brand said, 
“You stay where you are and some of the rest of 
us will go after your contraption. Don’t you worry. 
We’ll carry it as careful as if it was a teethin’ baby 
we didn’t want to wake up.” 

And they were as good as their word, setting the 
machine in safety in the Carter’s wagon where a 
place had been reserved for it among the belongings 
of the Brands and other people; for, as Di had told 
Sourball the evening before, the S. Brands had once 
more cut down their baggage and wagons in order 
to double-team the rest. 

227 


228 


Diantha’s Quest 


Seraphy Tupper had brought out the velvet pelisse 
among other things and laid it by the road side. 

“I’m kissin’ it good-by,” she said to her sister 
Ruth, who was watching her. “I reckon we can 
count ourselves lucky if we get through these 
mountains with what we stand up in.” 

Ruth made no answer to this, but she lingered 
behind after Seraphy had gone on and Clara Bell 
the eldest sister came upon her with a rolled up 
bundle in her arms. 

“What you got there?” she demanded curiously. 

“Seraphy’s velvets,” Ruth answered tersely. “She 
throwed ’em away.” 

“Did Melindy leave out her bunnet, too,” asked 
Clara Bell eagerly. 

“Yes,” said Ruth. “You’ll find it back there a 
piece. She hung it on a bush to the off-side of the 
road.” 

Without further words Clara Bell swooped down 
upon the coveted plunder. Nothing more passed 
between the sisters. The bonnet and pelisse had 
disappeared as if by magic, but, as no one looked for 
them, this curious circumstance was not remarked. 

After Sourball’s invention had been picked up, the 
advance to the second summit was begun. They 
had hardly gone a hundred yards before the lead 
team on the Carter outfit stopped and refused to 
budge. Uncle Toby was almost in tears. 

“They done took away my own little white mule,” 


The End of the Trail 


229 


he said, “and gimme these here no account horses. 
How they ’spec’s we’re a-goin’ on?” 

But the condition was serious. They were effec- 
tively blocking the road and everyone behind was 
giving them different advice. Some suggested mak- 
ing a cart, others insisted upon their abandoning 
wheels altogether. Finally it was decided to lighten 
the load by packing the pair of lead horses and seeing 
if the mules could then make shift for themselves. 
This was done and the horse which was laden with 
tins promptly took fright at their clattering and ran 
away. However there was only one direction in 
which it could run, up, and the poor beast was soon 
recaptured, exhausted, and its load transferred to a 
less flighty animal. But there is a knack in packing 
that is not to be learned in a minute and the loads 
continually slipped. At sunset the party had covered 
but six miles and all were so worn out that camp 
was made. 

“These are surely the Witches’ Mountains,” Sam 
whispered to Di. “Even Dots goes as if she had 
weights tied to her feet, and every mile is as long 
as three.” 

Di nodded. 

“And the air makes you so hungry,” she said rue- 
fully. “When I sit down to supper I feel like the 
giant who always swallowed his sheep whole.” 

“Mrs. Cronin says that even little Tim has a 
grand appetite,” Sam chuckled and Di, her mind at 
once taken off their own dwindling stores, exclaimed, 


230 


Diantha’s Quest 


“Goodness, does she? I’d better run and tell mother, 
or she’ll stuff him till he’s sick again.” 

But she was too late. Little Tim already was pro- 
testing at being expected to digest a meal fit for a 
man, and he had not quite recovered two days later 
when at last the summit of the range was reached 
and a land of plenty lay spread out below them. 

Even yet all the difficulties were not over. The 
descent presented anything but an easy problem. 
The road, if one had ever existed, had vanished. 
The only thing that indicated that others had passed 
that way were grooves six inches deep worn in the 
trees by ropes used in lowering the wagons. 
Horses and mules must be led zig-zagging down in 
single file. 

After seeing the length of time required to go a 
scant mile Mrs. Carter called Captain Brand to her. 

“I’ve made up my mind to abandon our wagon,” 
she said. “Uncle Toby is not equal to the work. All 
we have can be carried on one mule. Mr. Ball may 
use the other and we, at least, will no longer delay 
you.” 

Brand looked at her with considerable admiration. 

“It don’t hardly seem fair to you,” he said, “seein’ 
that the Cronins have one of your mules already.” 

“They can’t get along without it.” Mrs. Carter 
cut him short. “ Besides it is as important to us as 
to you to get out of the mountains. Uncle Toby 
is feeding the mules oak leaves and bark, but they 
are not thriving on the diet” 


The End of the Trail 


231 


Three other wagons were abandoned at this 
point and better time was made from then on. Di, 
Sam and the Cronin children found raspberries, 
plums and gooseberries in abundance and feasted on 
them, while everyone, even Sourball rejoiced in the 
beautiful flowers which were everywhere around 
them. 

“Look at the myrtles!” he said to Di. “Fresh as 
in May, aren’t they.” 

“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it, Mr. Ball?” Di re- 
sponded. 

“It’s like Fairy-land,” the man surprised her by 
saying. “But why do you call me Mr. Ball? That 
isn’t my name.” 

“Isn’t it,” said Di, taken aback, and at a loss to 
explain that she had derived the name she called 
him from a derisive nickname. 

“No, it’s Deitz,” the man explained. “I don’t 
care about the others, but I want you and your 
mother to know it.” He turned away abruptly, hav- 
ing come as near to being effusive as his nature would 
allow. 

Three days later saw them in the gold valley. 
Here was the end of their pilgrimage together. 
Through indescribable hardships they had plodded 
weary miles in company, easing one another’s bur- 
dens, ready to lend a helping hand to a neighbor in 
trouble, making common cause against the perils of 
the way. Dangers shared had knit the little band 
with close ties of friendship, and, now that each 


232 


Diantha’s Quest 


family was to go its separate way, the breaking of 
those bonds brought tears and heartaches. Fare- 
wells were said, promises to send word of how each 
fared were exchanged, little mementoes given and 
taken. 

But the gold that had lured them west and had 
steeled their courage to face the unknown still beck- 
oned, and now that it seemed within their grasp 
they itched to be digging for the yellow metal. 

A few, mostly young men, were keen to locate at 
once and wash out a fortune or two before they 
sought a town to refit. 

The Cronins, bound for a camp further north 
toward Mt. Shastl, where Cronin’s brother had re- 
ported that he was making “grand money,” took 
one Carter mule with them, promising to send back 
the price of it as soon as Cronin had dug it out of 
the ground. 

Sourball, with a similar promise, borrowed the 
second mule to push on to Sacramento City, where 
he intended to repair his machine, and then go up the 
Feather River. Mrs. Carter was to forward her ad- 
dress to Sutter’s Fort for him when once she was 
permanently located. 

At last all that was left of the S. Brand wagon 
train were its captain, his son, and the Carter party. 

“What are you plannin’, Mis’ Carter?” Brand 
asked her. “We’ve been together so long I kind 
of feel responsible for you ladies yet.” 

“I have to find my husband, Mr. Brand,” Mrs. 


The End of the Trail 


233 


Carter said, “but before we can go on, I must earn 
some money somehow. You see I had counted on 
the sale of the mules and the wagon to carry us a 
little further, where we could perhaps send a mes- 
senger to find Mr. Carter and advise him of our 
situation.” 

“I don’t want to interrupt,” said Captain Brand, 
“but do you mean you ain’t got nothin’ but the 
mules?” 

“That’s all we have left,” Mrs. Carter admitted a 
trifle reluctantly. She had no wish to make a claim 
upon Captain Brand’s pity. 

“Where is Mr. Carter?” was the next question, 
asked with a puckered brow, and by degrees Cap- 
tain Brand was put in command of the entire situa- 
tion. 

“It comes down to this,” Brand said at last. “If 
we had money, we could send someone to hunt for 
Mr. Carter. As we haven’t, for all I have by me 
belongs to the club that sent me here, we’re ’bliged 
to wait till we earn some. Either me or Sammy.” 

“But I can’t be a burden upon you,” Mrs. Carter 
began, when Sam interrupted her eagerly, one finger 
pointing to a paragraph in a little brown paper book 
he held toward her. 

“You could make some money yourself, Mis’ Car- 
ter,” he suggested, “if you’d be willin,’ that is. 
Read this.” 

“ ‘A store and several boarding shanties’,” Mrs. 
Carter read, and seizing his idea at once, she said, 


234 Diantrha’s Quest 

“But we haven’t any supplies to start a boarding 
table, Sam.” 

“I think the miners would pay a little just to have 
cookin’ done for them,” Sam replied readily. “Their 
own food, I mean. Most of them don’t know any 
cookin’ except to stir a little yeast powder up with 
some flour and water and call it biscuits when they’ve 
burnt it round the edges.” 

“That’s the ticket, Mis’ Carter,” Brand exclaimed. 
“That’s a job you can leave any time you’re a-mind 
to, and there’s nothin’ to prevent writin’ or sendin’ 
some word to Mr. Carter while you’re doin’ it.” 

So it was settled that the two little parties should 
stay together for a time at least, and they got into 
Weaversville that afternoon where they traded one 
of Brand’s horses for a light cart. Here also they 
met two of the young men who had left them in the 
desert and they reported that provisions were high 
and gold scarce thereabout. This decided them to 
go to one of the streams mentioned favorably in 
Sam’s invaluable guide book and a week later they 
were established some ten miles above the workings 
of Sunol and Company on Weber’s Creek. Here they 
found a shanty deserted by two men who had rushed 
off at the news of a heavy strike on the Cosumne 
River although they had been making close to forty 
dollars a day where they were. Sam and Mr. Brand, 
Captain no longer, took up claims and set to work 
feverishly, each hoping to strike it rich before the 
other, and the days passed in rapid succession. 


The End of the Trail 


235 


Mrs. Carter and Di helped Uncle Toby to make 
two small additions to their cabin. Their room was 
roofed with boughs and the canvas of their wagon 
top, which they had brought with their possessions 
bundled in it, while Uncle Toby made similar use 
of his tent. They hoped that this would give suffi- 
cient protection even in the rainy season, still some 
weeks off. 

Sam’s prediction that miners would be found glad 
to pay to have their cooking done for them proved 
correct, and soon Mrs. Carter had, beside Sam and 
Mr. Brand, six other men to cater for. Only lack 
of accommodation kept others ‘away from her table. 

Di kept the main room gay with flowers and ber- 
ries, and Uncle Toby swept and scrubbed assidu- 
ously; but at best the place was a poor substitute for 
a home and Mrs. Carter began to doubt her wisdom 
in making that long hard march across the trail. 

She did not grieve for herself nor did she grudge 
the work. In fact she was more than glad that she 
had found some means by which she could earn her 
living in that rough camp. But she was not happy 
when she thought of her daughter’s surroundings. 
The miners treated them with an exaggerated re- 
spect, but they were rough men for the most part, 
and Mrs. Carter began to ask herself whether she 
would not have done more wisely to have put her 
pride in her pocket and returned to Virginia, where 
her child would have the advantages of gentle as- 
sociates to which she was entitled. 


236 


Diantha’s Quest 


Not that Di was unhappy. Far from it. The 
girl was the friend and confidant of almost every 
man in the camp. Hardly a day passed that some 
little gift was not tendered to one or other of the 
“ladies” by these rather lonely men, who were 
grateful for the touch of home the two gave to the 
place. Had she been alone Mrs. Carter would 
have been happy in the thought that she was on the 
road to find her husband; but Di’s presence was a 
source of constant anxiety and there were times when 
she felt that Mr. Carter was even farther away than 
he had seemed before she had taken that venture- 
some journey. 

On one of these trying days for Mrs. Carter she 
was sitting alone in the main room of their shack. 
Suddenly a figure darkened the door-way of the 
cabin and a man’s voice called to her. 

“Missus,” he began dolefully, “ a miner told me 
there was a lady doctor here.” 

“He must have meant me,” Mrs. Carter replied. 
“Come in, and tell me what I can do for you.” 

The man shambled into the room and held out a 
gaily labeled bottle toward the seated woman. 

“Can you tell me,” be blurted out, “is this here 
Panacea any good?” Mrs. Carter took the bottle, 
shaking her head and smiling half sadly. This was 
not a new sort of case for her; but the man went 
on volubly now that he was started. “I’ve took 
quarts of that, ma’am. Before that it was K. F. 
Hibbard’s Bitters ! Why there ain’t nothin’ I haven’t 


The End of the Trail 


237 


tried that I know of. There’s Chelcea Syrup! May- 
be I’ve stowed away a dozen bottles o’ that stuff. 
And then there’s those little pink Indian pills in 
the blue box that everybody says are grand. They 
didn’t touch me, though I’ve eaten hundreds! And 
it’s the same with the Shaker’s Tomsonian medicines 
and Mr. A. Gilbert’s Pills. I’ve given ’em all a 
chance, but nothin’ seems to take hold o’ me right,” 
he ended mournfully. 

‘‘Did it ever occur to you to give your poor stom- 
ach a rest, Mr. Yerber?” Mrs. Carter asked, hav- 
ing recognized her distressed visitor. 

The man started and looked at her keenly as she 
spoke his name, then shook his head. He had only 
seen the lady once and she had worn a sunbonnet on 
that occasion, so it is not to be wondered at that he 
had no recollection of her. 

“That’s my name, ma’am,” he replied, “Guess 
you’ve heard o’ me around here. But what do you 
mean by givin’ my stomach a rest?” 

“I assume you have indigestion from the remedies 
you have been taking,” said Mrs. Carter. 

“Somethin’ terrible!” Yerber declared, “and what 
I aims at is to get a medicine that will kind o’ 
strangle it! I’ll take anything you say, ma’am, and 
much obliged.” 

“What you need is as little food as you can live 
on,” Mrs. Carter announced crisply. “If you could 
get it, I should say that a diet of milk and nothing 
else was best for you. As for this stuff,” she indi- 


238 


Diantha’s Quest 


cated the bottle in her hand, “it’s ruining your diges- 
tion — or what is left of it after the other patent 
nostrums you’ve been taking.” 

“But, ma’am,” Yerber began in protest, “they’ve 
cost enough to make me a new stomach, and they 
was highly recommended, every last one of ’em I” 

At that moment Di came running in. She carried 
a pair of grayish birds in her hand and at first paid 
no heed to the man standing there. She was used to 
finding miners consulting Mrs. Carter about all sorts 
of trivial things, and at the moment she was too 
interested to even glance at the visitor. 

“Look, mama,” she cried excitedly, holding up the 
birds so that her mother might inspect them. “Aren’t 
they pretty? See their cunning little topknots! It 
seems a shame to kill them.” 

“Where did you get them?” Mrs. Carter asked. 

“From that Frenchman everybody calls “Keske- 
dee’ — the man who won the lottery to come here,” 
the girl replied. “He shot them for you. They’re 
California quail and very good to eat.” She turned, 
as if for confirmation, to the visitor and looked up 
into his face. “Why, it’s Mr. Yerber!” she ex- 
claimed. “I thought you had gone to Bidwell’s 
Bar.” 

The moment he saw Di, Yerber had remembered 
where he had encountered these two before, and 
for an instant he scowled, then a rather crafty look 
came into his eyes and by the time Di recognized him 


The End of the Trail 239 

he had assumed a most urbane and deferential man- 
ner. 

“Why I recollect now, ma’am,” he said, address- 
ing Mrs. Carter. “We had a talk ’way back near 
St. Jo! And now we’re meetin’ up again here. 
Queer, ain’t it?” 

“It’s not very extraordinary,” Mrs. Carter re- 
plied. 

“I expected we’d see you again, Mr. Yerber,” Di 
remarked and her voice betrayed something of the 
distrust and antagonism she felt toward this man. 

“Well, I should never have expected it,” Yerber 
commented genially. “You’ll excuse my sayin’ it, 
ma’am, but I never took it serious that you and your 
daughter here were really set on crossin’ by the 
trail.” 

“We were, you see,” Di cut in. “You wouldn’t let 
us go with you, but we found others who did.” 

“And that don’t say my advice to you wasn’t 
good,” Yerber insisted. “This ain’t a place for 
ladies that has been used to comforts and such. 
They belong back home, if you ask me.” 

“But we didn’t ask you,” Di declared pertly. 

“We felt obliged to come, Mr. Yerber,” Mrs. 
Carter said amicably, thinking it high time 'to put 
a stop to Di’s show of unfriendliness. 

“Well, you must o’ seen for yourself that gold isn’t 
to be picked up without work you ain’t fit for — if 
that’s what you came to get,” he added significantly. 

“We came to find my father,” Di informed him. 


240 


Diantha’s Quest 


“But he ain’t here,” Yerber declared. 

“How can you be so sure of that?” Di demanded. 
“You said you didn’t know him.” 

“Neither I do,” the man returned with a laugh 
intended to show an indifference to her attitude to- 
ward him and to cover up his slight slip. “I wouldn’t 
recognize your pa if I was to bump into him in the 
street. But no man could let his women folks work 
the way I hear you are working. Not in these 
diggins.’ ” 

These words touched on a sensitive nerve although 
Yerber had no idea how his statement rankled in 
Mrs. Carter’s brain. Many times lately she had 
realized that the rough men with whom she was as- 
sociated had scant respect for a husband who would 
neglect his wife and child as she and her daughter 
were apparently neglected. She could not take the 
whole camp into her confidence, but the miners’ at- 
titude of mind was evident in more ways than one, 
and the implied criticisms of Mr. Carter hurt her 
sorely. Moreover she had been reproaching her- 
self for having brought Di, and now this uncouth 
Yerber was putting into words thoughts she had not 
dared to formulate. For herself she cared not 
what any of them might think or say, but she would 
have been glad if Diantha had been left in Virginia 
with her grandfather. 

It was on the tip of her tongue to make a suitable 
reply to Yerber’s last remark when the girl spoke 
shortly. 


The End of the Trail 


241 


“I’m going to see Sam, mama,” she said and, 
turning on her heel, quitted the room. 

After her departure 'there was silence for a mo- 
ment. Then Yerber spoke. 

“Seems like I always manage to rile the young 
lady,” he admitted with a show of frankness. 
“Don’t know how it is, but somehow she has a notion 
I know where her pa is. I tell you plain, ma’am, I 
don’t.” 

“She’s only a child, Mr. Yerber,” Mrs. Carter 
replied. She herself had little liking for this bluster- 
ing adventurer, but she had no wish to make an 
enemy of him. 

“Don’t worry,” he went on, “I ain’t takin’ it 
amiss. Maybe I’m to blame for your bein’ in this 
fix, anyway.” 

“I hardly see that,” Mrs. Carter returned. 

“Well,” Yerber drawled, “you’ll allow that this 
ain’t no place for a woman.” 

“I’m not complaining, Mr. Yerber,” Mrs. Car- 
ter said. She herself felt a momentary resentment 
toward the man for his presumption, which he was 
quick to note. 

“I ain’t aimin’ to interfere with your business, 
ma’am,” he hastened to assure her. “That ain’t 
what’s frettin’ me. Only seein’ as how I might 
have showed you plainer what you was lettin’ your- 
self in for, back there in St. Jo, I kind o’ blame my- 
self for not doin’ it. If I’d a-took some trouble 
pointin’ out all the difficulties you was to encounter 


242 


Diantha’s Quest 


when you got here, instead o’ sayin’, short, I 
wouldn’t take your outfit, well, — maybe you’d a- 
stayed east.” 

“I don’t believe so,” Mrs. Carter replied frankly. 
“I had made up my mind to come.” 

“Well, ma’am, maybe you had,” Yerber conceded, 
“but that don’t no ways excuse me for not tellin’ 
you. Then, too, you have took an interest in my 
dispepsy, and I’d like to make it up to you, ma’am. 
We all have to help each other out in these diggin’s, 
and you stand in need o’ help or I miss my guess.” 

“We’re doing as well as can be expected under 
the circumstances,” Mrs. Carter insisted. 

“I know all that, ma’am,” Yerber went on. “But 
how long is it goin’ to last, that’s what I’m askin’ 
you? You’ve got nothin’ to count on here. Gold is 
cornin’ in mighty slow, and the minute a real strike 
turns up anywhere else this whole crowd will light 
out for the new diggin’s before sun-up. Why, ma’am, 
I’ve seen camps where there’s maybe five hundred 
men one night and the next mornin’ there wasn’t one 
left within miles of the place.” 

Mrs. Carter gave an involuntary start. Here was 
a possibility she had not taken into account, but 
there was no question of its probability. She remem- 
bered the labor that had gone into making their shack 
even habitable, and she shrank from the thought of 
having to rush off in the train of these gold-crazed 
miners to make another home for herself and her 
daughter in an unknown spot. It was only too true 


The End of the Trail 


243 


that any day might bring news of a fresh discovery 
to which the men would flock, leaving behind them 
paying claims, perhaps, in the hope of finding imagin- 
ary fortunes in the new location. All of them, know- 
ing the work they were obliged to do, were ready to 
believe that a richer strike was to be found. Reason 
played no part in their decisions. They trusted to 
luck, learning nothing from past experiences nor 
heeding the advice of those few who kept their heads. 

Yerber was not blind to the fact that he had made 
an impression by his last remark and went on to am- 
plify it. 

“Then there’s your daughter, ma’am, You’ll ad- 
mit this ain’t a place to bring her up. There ain’t 
any advantages like she ought to have — no chance 
for a fine education. Where can you get teachers 
here to learn her to make wax flowers, or paint 
pictures on velvet, or any elegant doin’s like that?” 

“But what alternative have I?” Mrs. Carter was 
giving voice to the despair in her heart rather than 
appealing to the man before her, but Yerber had a 
ready answer. 

“You leave it to me, ma’am,” he replied confi- 
dentially. “I’ll get you the money to go back.” 

“But how?” asked Mrs. Carter. 

“Oh, the miners are a friendly crowd,” Yerber 
explained. “I’ve heard ’em talk around these dig- 
gin’s. They kind o’ think you ought to be taken 
care of, and all I’ll have to do is to speak to ’em. 


244 Diantha’s Quest 

There ain’t one who won’t chip in a day’s pay to send 
you back home.” 

Yerber stopped and glanced keenly at Mrs. Car- 
ter, who, busy with her thoughts was looking away 
from him, scarcely conscious, for the moment, of 
his presence. Had she come to the point where she 
was ready to accept charity? The very fact that 
she did not instantly reject his offer showed more 
plainly than she herself recognized that such was the 
case. 

But Yerber, for all his apparent generosity and 
show of kindly spirit, was not wholly disinterested. 
He had an object to gain which he thought it wise 
not to mention yet. He could make his bargain 
when he came with the money in his hand. 

“It’s the young lady, your daughter, I’m thinkin’ 
of,” he remarked, after a moment. “To tell you 
the truth this ain’t the place for her. You’ll excuse 
my sayin’ it, ma’am, but the girl if she stays here, 
is likely to grow up no better than a squaw!” 

He had thought that this last observation would 
clinch the matter but there was a point beyond which 
Mrs. Carter would not go. Already she had borne 
more of this man’s talk than she would have thought 
possible a few months back, but there was a limit 
to what she would endure. 

“I appreciate your kindly intentions, Mr. Yerber,” 
she said, rising, “and I’ll think it over. But you will 
have to excuse me now. I have duties to attend to. 
I hope you will take my advice and throw all those 


The End of the Trail 


245 


patent nostrums away.” Saying which she left Yer- 
ber in possession of the main room and went out into 
a lean-to which served as their kitchen. 

Alone the man looked about him curiously; then 
instead of leaving he walked with stealthy steps 
toward the rear of the room where a spot of color 
glowed. Di, feeling the need of ornament, had 
hung her cherished map on the wall and the man ex- 
amined it with visibly rising excitement. Suddenly 
he made as if to seize it, when a soft voice stopped 
him with his hand in the air. 

“Yes, sir,” said Uncle Toby, “that there’s a 
mighty prutty little contraption. It belong’ to our 
Miss Di. Marse Charles sent it home for to amuse 
the child, like.” 

The old man had entered the cabin quietly and set 
about laying the table for the next meal, and Yerber, 
seeing that he was not likely to have the place to 
himself again, slapped on his hat and left without 
a word. 


CHAPTER XXI 


YERBER SPEAKS OUT 

O N her way to the place where Sam was work- 
ing his claim Di mused thoughtfully over the 
sudden reappearance of Yerber. The belief 
that he knew something of her father had taken 
complete possession of her and nothing he could say 
would disabuse her mind of that conviction. She 
was willing to admit, even to herself, that the inci- 
dent of the gloves was by no means sure proof of 
this. His explanation was plausible enough, as she 
realized after hearing numerous tales of Mexicans 
who 'hovered about the gold fields. But instinctively 
she distrusted him and it was well-nigh impossible 
for her to be civil in his presence. 

Yerber’s arrival seemed to take all the joy out 
of her life. He reminded her of those days when 
they were in St. Joseph waiting to start out, full 
of -hope and certain of the result once they reached 
California. The trials then and later on the road 
were quickly forgotten, because there was always 
the promise that she would find her father as soon 
as the journey ended. There had never been any 
doubt in her mind that ultimately they would meet 
246 


Yerber Speaks Out 


247 


him, but at length they had reached the gold fields 
and days had gone by without a word of his where- 
abouts. Di had much the same feeling as her mother 
that in California they were no nearer to him they 
sought than they had been before they made the 
trip across the continent. 

Their lack of money had grown daily more and 
more irksome. Letters had been written to the 
ranch in the south that Mr. Smith had told them of, 
but so far no answer had come, and Di longed to 
go there herself. She wanted to search from one 
end of California to the other, and would never have 
rested until her quest was rewarded had they not 
lacked the means to pay their way. 

At first she and her mother had talked of taking 
up a claim and hunting for their share of the gold 
which had been reported as so plentiful, but they had 
seen nothing to encourage this idea. They soon 
learned that the stories of quick fortunes easily made 
were mostly fables, and that steady and laborious 
work was necessary to obtain any of the precious 
metal. Neither of them had the strength to attempt 
it. The pay dirt had to be dug up, carried to a stream 
and there washed till nothing but sand and gold was 
left. This remainder was dried in the sun, then the 
sand was blown away with a bellows, carrying with it 
a great part of the fine gold. As she walked along 
Di watched four men operating a cradle. One dug, 
another carried the red pay-dirt to the machine, the 
third gave it a violent rocking motion, while the 


248 


Diantha’s Quest 


fourth poured in bucket after bucket of water to 
wash away the soil. Hour after hour, day in and 
day out, they toiled, hoping that at each new shovel- 
ful a fortune might be disclosed to them. 

In some places the gold-seekers were standing in 
the icy mountain water washing away the earth <in 
pans or baskets. They were chilled to the bone by 
the low temperature of the stream swirling about 
them almost waist-deep, but upon their heads blazed 
a burning sun. Many a strong man had succumbed 
to the exhaustion of this trying labor, and it was as- 
suredly no work for women. 

“I suppose I needn’t expect to find a fortune by 
magic,” Di thought ruefully. “I had my chance at 
the Wishing Well. Of course I’m not sorry for what 
I did. Papa would have wanted me to help little 
Timmy; but oh, I wish I had another wish!” 

In the distance Sam’s cheerful whistling became 
audible and she quickened her pace. The boy was 
a very good cure for blues. 

“Well, what luck today, Sam?” she asked as she 
came up to him. 

“Oh, I’ve done pretty well,” he answered with a 
grin. “I found a real big chispa that must weigh 
nearly an ounce I should say.” He stepped out of 
the water and opened his little buckskin sack for 
her inspection. “See, Di. There’s a bit of quartz 
sticking to it, and anyhow I can’t tell exactly what 
it’ll come to till I get Dad’s scales.” 

“But it isn’t a fortune, Sam,” Di told him, still 


Yerber Speaks Out 


249 


under the influence of her depressing thoughts. “And 
I don’t understand it. I got my wish and you should 
have gotten yours by this time. I’ve been expecting 
you to make a big strike any day for weeks.” 

“You don’t know what I wished,” Sam chuckled. 
“And I’m not going to tell you, that’s sure. I don’t 
mean to spoil it all.” 

“That’s right,” Di agreed. “Don’t tell me. At 
least not till you get it.” Then, with a sudden change 
of subject. “You’ll never guess who I saw just now.” 

“I know,” said Sam. “I saw them too and there 
was like to be a riot, because Ruth and Clara Bell 
had saved up Seraphy’s velvet contraption and 
Melinda’s bunnet that they throwed away and was 
wearin’ them to show off. Seraphy wasn’t remem- 
berin’ that findin’s was keepin’s, the way she once 
said it was. But all the girls looked wonderful 
grand, wearin’ wide hoopskirts and spit curls! I 
tell you they was stylish.” 

“Have they come here to live?” asked Di aston- 
ished. “I thought they were going to Dutch Flat.” 

“They did go there, but Mr. Tupper only made 
fair wages. Not what he’d come to Californy for 
at all. So they’ve been prospectin’ here and there 
on their way to the Bay, where they’re going to 
spend the rainy season. ’Course, if Tupper made 
a big strike anywhere, he’d stay with it and the 
women folk could go to San Francisco alone, but I 
don’t think he’s likely to.” 

“Why not?” Di asked. 


250 


Diantha’s Quest 


“He’s too impatient,” Sam said. “There’s good 
claims that take developin’. Now that tunnel of 
Dad’s up the hillside a ways is just beginning to pay. 
Tupper turns *his nose up at that. And when I 
showed him my chispa he told me he’d found lots 
of bigger ones — that he was lookin’ for*a real strike. 
He don’t think much of the prospects hereabouts, so 
they’re goin’ right on.” 

“He must expect gold cobble-stones,” said Di. 
“I’d like to have seen them all though. The girls 
are awfully good-hearted.” 

“Who did you meet up with, if it wasn’t them?” 
Sam asked. He had begun to work again, but 
stopped, astonished at Di’s answer. 

“Yerber, of the Bidwell’s Bar Express. You re- 
member? Will they do anything to him, do you 
think, for burning the grass on the prairie?” 

“Not now,” the boy returned. “He’s safe enough. 
Probably no one here knows about it except us. It’s 
only when they catch a man red-handed that it goes 
hard with him.” 

“He didn’t seem especially pleased to see us,” Di 
said. “At least I don’t know what he thought. He 
doesn’t let you know if he can help it; but, Sam, I’m 
sure he could tell us about father if he wanted to.” 

“Why shouldn’t he then?” Sam demanded, not 
unnaturally. He was at work again while he talked. 

“I can’t think why, but I’m sure,” Di insisted. 

“Well,” Sam grunted over his pan, “it does seem 
to me that he would say something. I didn’t ever 


Yerber Speaks Out 


251 


cotton to the man and Dad didn’t like him neither; 
but there wasn’t anything against him, ever I heard 
of, except settin’ that grass a-fire.” 

“That was bad enough!” Di exclaimed. 

“Yes, but we never was sure it was Yerber him- 
self, though we suspicioned him,” Sam returned. He 
was trying to be fair. 

“You’re just like mother !” Di burst out. “Every- 
thing has to be down in black and white, or you 
don’t believe it. I’m just as certain that Yerber 
knows something about my father as I am that the 
sun is shining.” 

Sam came -out of the water again, looking disap- 
pointedly at«the pin point specks of gold in his pan. 

“The sun’s shinin’ all right,” he muttered. “My 
feet are so cold I can’t feel ’em and my head’s so 
hot my brains are boilin’. I guess I’m like a pail of 
ice-cream at a picnic.” 

Di laughed. Sam was pretty sure to put her in a 
good humor sooner or later, and she turned more 
cheerfully to go back to their forlorn home. 

“Anyway, I wish you’d keep on .thinking about 
Yerber,” she said at parting. “I can’t -imagine any 
plausible reason why he shouldn’t tell us, but I’m 
sure he has one.” 

“Thinkin’ ain’t my strong point, but I’ll do the 
best I can,” Sam promised. 

“All right, do! Now I must go help mama with 
supper,” and Di ran down the hill. 

That same evening when they were alone and all 


252 


Diantha’s Quest 


traces of the evening meal had been removed, Mrs. 
Carter called Di to her side. 

“Sit down, dear,” she said gently. “We must 
have a little talk together. I’m afraid I’m more 
discouraged’about finding your father than I was on 
the trail.” 

“I know,” Di confessed, “but I think I know the 
reason for it. On the trail it seemed that all we 
had to do was to get to California when, hey presto, 
papa would appear! Now that we’re here, we find 
that California is a very big place. But. that doesn’t 
mean that we won’t find him sooner or later.” 

Mrs. Carter shook her head doubtfully. 

“I heard today from the Express Company. They 
have been unable to deliver our letters to your 
father.” 

“Oh!” Di exclaimed, her face paling as the signi- 
ficance of this news made itself felt. “Did they 
say why they couldn’t?” 

“He wasn’t to be found,” Mrs. Carter replied. 
“There is no one at the Buenos Aguas Rancho who 
understands English, but the messenger talks Span- 
ish. He reports that the peons on the estate told 
him that their master had gone home, which means 
Spain, I suppose.” 

“But surely they knew of father,” Di insisted. 

“They said that Captain Carter was no longer 
there,” her mother continued. “There seems to be 
no doubt of that, for the agent of the company made 
every effort to find him.” 


Yerber Speaks Out 


253 


“Then we shall have to find him ourselves !” Di 
cried. She was not going to let this discouragement 
break her faith, bu't she felt the need of fighting for 
it. “If we go there ourselves I’m sure we can learn 
about father.” 

“But the money?” Mrs. Carter reminded the 
girl. 

“We must save and save till we have enough!” 

Di declared. “There’s nothing else to do.” 

“Yes, there is,” her mother replied, “and I have 
been thinking over it very seriously. We can go 
back home. Remember it is there your father would 
expect to find us, and lately I have felt that I made 
a mistake to bring you out here.” 

“Oh, don’t let’s do that, mama,” Di begged, and 
there was real distress in her voice as she spoke. 
“Beside, we would need money to take us east. Much 
more than we have.” 

“A friend hasoffered to provide the money,” Mrs. 
Carter half-whispered. 

“A friend?” echoed Di. Except Sam and his 
father, who could not afford to do what her mother 
suggested, Di knew of no one in the camp to whom 
this title could be properly applied. 

“His offer was friendly,” Mrs. Carter went on to 
explain, “and I am tempted to take it.” 

“But we don’.t know anybody who is rich enough,” 

Di replied, puzzled. 

“The suggestion was that the whole camp would * 


254 


Diantha’s Quest 


contribute if the word was given,” Mrs. Carter ex- 
plained. 

“Charity!” Di burst out. “Charity that we could 
never hope to repay as we might a loan from one 
person! I’d rather die right here than accept it!” 

“I expected you to say that,” the other admitted, 
“but I am not sure you are right. Sometimes it may 
be a duty to accept an affront to your pride — ” 

“Would you do it for yourself?” Di demanded 
suddenly and Mrs. Carter, taken off her guard for 
an instant, flushed. 

“Never!” she cried, and then, with a catch in her 
voice, “but Di dear, I’m not thinking of myself.” 

“I know you’re not,” Di exclaimed, throwing her 
arms about her mother. “You wouldn’t dream of it 
if it wasn’t for me ; but oh, mama darling, let’s fight 
it out ourselves. Something will happen soon, I’m 
sure.” 

The appeal, coming straight from Di’s heart could 
hardly be withstood. Mrs. Carter had to choose be- 
tween the anxiety she felt for her brave daughter’s 
future and her own inclination to struggle on, and 
in the end the girl had her way. If worse came to 
worst she might, for Di’s sake, appeal to her hus- 
band’s family in Virginia, and the more she con- 
sidered it the more satisfied she became that if her 
pride must be humbled this was the better way. 

“Who suggested this collection, mama?” Di 
asked, after a time. “Was it that Yerber man?” 

“Yes,” Mrs. Carter admitted. “When you went 


Yerber Speaks Out 


255 


out this afternoon he proposed finding the money 
for us. I confess I don’t like the man any more than 
you do, my dear but he seemed entirely friendly — 

“He’s nothing of the sort!” Di interrupted vio- 
lently. “He wants to get rid of us. He’s afraid of 
us for some reason. After all, perhaps he did steal 
father’s gloves — ” 

“Diantha,” Mrs. Carter cut in sharply, “you 
must not make such accusations under any circum- 
stances. Stealing, as you well know, is punished by 
hanging in these mining camps, and you have noth- 
ing to go on but a vague suspicion of this man, who 
has never done anything to warrant it.” 

“You were suspicious of him yourself at St. Jo. 
You know you were, mama,” Di insisted. 

“I had no reason to be,” Mrs. Carter confessed. 
“Just because he would not take us in his outfit is 
no reason why he should be accused of a crime. No, 
my dear, you must try to overcome your animosity. 
It may lead to serious trouble.” 

A slight noise at the door drew their attention in 
that direction and there stood the man of whom they 
had been talking. 

“Well, ma’am,” he called genially, “I thought I’d 
drop around and see what you had to say about the 
offer I made this afternoon.” 

“We are not going to take it, Mr. Yerber!” Di 
burst out. “We came to California to find my 
father, and we don’t mean to go back until we do!” 

Mrs. Carter expected that the man would retort 


256 


Diantha’s Quest 


disagreeably at this answer of her daughter’s, but 
in this she was mistaken. Yerber laughed. 

“The little miss has got a temper, hasn’t she?” 
he cried, stepping into the room. “Well, I guess she 
ain’t the only one who can speak. What do you say, 
ma’am?” 

“We’re obliged for your offer, Mr. Yerber, but 
we cannot accept it,” Mrs. Carter replied with 
dignity. 

Instantly the man’s manner changed. 

“So that’s it,” he said, with almost a snarl In his 
voice. “You think you’ll stay and find it by your- 
selves !” 

“We’ll try to find Mr. Carter,” was the calm 
answer. 

Yerber, evidently much disturbed by something, 
took a turn or two about the room and seemed to 
be struggling to control himself. At length he 
pushed a chair near to the spot where Mrs. Carter 
and Di were sitting, and dropped into it heavily. 

“I guess we’d better talk straight,” he began. “I’ve 
got my own views of why you won’t go east, and I’m 
ready to make terms with you. I know a lot more 
about this country than you do. I can see it through, 
and you can’t never get on without someone to help 
you. You’ll need a mule team, and you’ll need the 
strength of a man. That old slave of yours ain’t no 
ways up to the work ahead of you. Every word I’m 
sayin’ is true, ma’am, and you’ve been here long 
enough to know it. I might be mean and take it 


257 


Yerber Speaks Out 

all; but, seem’ that you have the location, I’m will- 
ing to split with you, share and share alike even if 
I do bear all the expenses. Come now, that’s gen- 
erous, ain’t it?” He looked from mother to daugh- 
ter expectantly, but for an instant they were both too 
astonished to speak. 

“There ain’t many who would treat you as fair 
as that,” he insisted. “Come ! Let’s make a deal of 
it. I swear I’ll divide everything fair and square 
and you shan’t have any cause to complain. Is it a 
go?” 

“Mr. Yerber,” said Mrs. Carter positively, “we 
do not know what you are talking about.” 

Yerber looked at her incredulously then he smiled 
a knowing smile. 

“All right,” he said, “we’ll leave it like that. You 
don’t know what I’m talking about, so I’ll tell you. 
I’m a-talkin’ about the hidalgo’s treasure. If you 
take me in as a pardner I’ll guarantee to get it and 
turn a cool half of it over to you. How’s that?” 

“The hidalgo’s treasure!” Mrs. Carter was ut- 
terly bewildered. “I do not know any hidalgo.” 

“To be sure you don’t,” Yerber said facetiously. 
“You never heard tell of his treasure ’either. Well, 
I’ll tell you this much about it so that you’ll know 
/ know. Hearing that the American troops were 
likely to come his way, he rode off with it and hid 
it. It’s never been found since then, and if you 
and me dig it up it’s ours with no one to say a word 
against it. Findin’s is keepin’s, and that’s good law 


258 


Diantha’s Quest 


before any alcalde hereabouts. Not that anyone 
need know about it, for I see you’re a lady that can 
keep your mouth shut when you want to.” 

“What kind of a treasure is it?” Di asked 
thoughtfully. 

“Oh, you know,” Yerber said in an off-hand man- 
ner. “Just what those old Spaniards always have. 
Lots of plate, if there’s nothing but chile con carne 
on the table; and diamonds and emeralds and pearls, 
to dress out their silks and satins.” 

“But we know nothing of such a treasure,” Mrs. 
Carter declared, bewildered. “How should we? 
We’ve only just come into the country.” 

“You mean you w T ant me to think you don’t know,” 
Yerber said. “Well, ma’am, 'there’s no use trying 
to set me off the trail because I know you know. But 
to save all unpleasantness and to make sure you’re 
quite satisfied, here’s one more offer. I’ll give you 
all the best of it. You shall have two-thirds and 
I’ll rest content with a third, and you’ll never hear 
a word of complaint out of me. Now what have 
you got to say?” 

“Just what I said before,” Mrs. Carter replied. 
“It is all I can say. I know nothing of this treasure. 
Absolutely nothing!” 

“I suppose you’d like to tell me it doesn’t exist,” 
said Yerber with a sneer. “Well, you needn’t. I’ve 
known about it almost since it was planted. I’ve 
always meant to have a try for it, and now I warn 
you. I’ve given you a chance to take me in as a 


Yerber Speaks Out 


259 


friend. You’re kind of proud and stuck-up and don’t 
cotton to me, or perhaps you think you won’t have 
to split with any one. It makes no odds to me. 
I’m out to get that treasure and if you won’t help 
me I’ll go it alone. How will that suit you, eh?” 

“Very well, Mr. Yerber,” Di said. “Much better 
than having you for a partner. But there’s just 
one question I’d like to ask you. Is the hidalgo 
you speak of my father’s friend of the Buenos Aguas 
Rancho?” 

Yerber who had been striding nervously up and 
down the cabin stopped in his tracks and there was 
an instant’s silence before he replied. Then he 
spoke rather elaborately. 

“I disremember exactly,” he said, “but it seems to 
me that you asked me about your pa once before and 
I told you I didn’t know him. I don’t know his 
friends either, and you’re in a better position than 
I am to say which rancho the hidalgo’s treasure 
came from.” 

Di did not reply to this. Her question had been 
made without any real hope of an answer and she 
had gained nothing by it. 

Mrs. Carter, anxious to end a profitless interview 
and to control the animosities Yerber and Di always 
roused in each other, now spoke with absolute 
finality. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Yerber, if you think that we’re de- 
ceiving you,” she said, “but I assure you that we 
know absolutely nothing that would help you to 


*260 


Diantha’s Quest 


find this treasure you speak of. I never heard of it 
before you mentioned it this evening. There is no 
reason for you to share it with me if you can find 
it. I wish you good luck — and good evening!” 

Yerber realized that he was dismissed and moved 
toward the door. Indeed he was partly convinced. 
He believed that Mrs. Carter at least did not know 
of the treasure. Surely she would not have given 
up all claim to it if she had. 

“How about you, young Miss?” he asked on the 
threshold. “Do you say, same as your ma, that if I 
find it you have no claim on it?” 

But Di was little minded to send him away satis- 
fied. 

“Dear me, no,” she said innocently. “You said 
you would give us two-thirds, didn’t you. I certainly 
will hope to hold you to your promise, Mr. Yerber, 
if you recover the treasure through any help of ours, 
direct or indirect.” 

“I thought so!” Yerber snorted as he pushed 
through the doorway. “Well, Miss, I’ll have it in 
spite of you !” 

“Now what did you mean by that, Di?” Mrs. 
Carter asked, half indignantly. “You make a point 
of courting that man’s ill-will, yet you don’t know 
anything about this treasure, do you?” 

“Not a thing, except what he told us,” Di 
answered, “but I’m sure this hidalgo is the one J. 
B. Smith wrote you about; and I’m always longing 
to make Yerber betray that he knew papa.” 


Yerber Speaks Out 


261 


Mrs. Carter turned away rather hopelessly. 

“Go to bed, now,” she said at last, “and Di dear, 
to oblige me, do not excite this man’s enmity. I 
think he might be dangerous.” 

“Don’t worry,” Di urged. “He’s a coyote not a 
wolf. He’d run if you said ‘Boo’ to him.” 

“I’m not so sure of that,” her mother insisted. 
“At any rate it is a good rule in life to make as few 
enemies as you can. Good night, my dear.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


A TORN MAP 

D I WENT to bed obediently, but not to sleep. 
She kept revolving in her mind Yerber’s curi- 
ous assumption that she and her mother 
possessed information of great value which they 
were concealing from him. She wondered why he 
should think that, trying to remember if there was 
anything they might have said to give him such an 
idea. That he was convinced they had a clue to 
some hidden treasure there could be no doubt. The 
man’s manner, as well as what he had proposed, con- 
firmed that fact, but what could have given him such 
an impression? Di sought vainly for an answer. 

Yet there was something that required an ex- 
planation. From the moment they had first come 
into contact with Yerber the girl had sensed a cer- 
tain indescribable antagonism on the man’s part 
toward them. Her demand to know how he had 
come to have her father’s gloves might account for 
it in a measure, but that by no means solved the 
mystery of his latest proposition. 

Mrs. Carter came to bed and was soon sound 
asleep. Di could hear her regular breathing while 
262 


263 


A Torn Map 

she herself tossed and turned and twisted for what 
seemed to her hours. At length, feeling feverish 
and thirsty she decided to get herself a drink of 
water and, with every precaution to avoid waking 
her mother, she slipped out of bed. The night had 
grown chilly, so she put on a long coat and pushed 
her feet into Indian moccasins which lay beside her 
bed. Then, on tiptoe, she passed under the blanket 
that hung in the doorway, separating their sleeping 
place from the main room of the shack. 

Instantly she became aware that someone was 
moving cautiously across the floor. The front door 
stood open and, against the faint light of the sky, a 
dark form was silhouetted for an instant. Although 
she had but a momentary glance at the outlined 
figure she was certain the man was Yerber. Her first 
impulse was to cry out, but her hands went to her 
lips instinctively and, pressing back against the 
blanket, she held her breath and watched. Here 
she felt, was the opportunity to discover what was 
in the man’s mind. She remembered suddenly how 
their wagon had been searched that night back in 
St. Jo, an outrage which she had attributed to Yer- 
ber’s desire to obtain the gloves he had given up 
with such a show of good nature; but his visit, this 
time, had nothing to do with gloves she was cer- 
tain. It concerned the treasure of which he had 
talked that evening, and the girl was determined, if 
she could, to learn what he was after. 

She had not long to wait. Apparently the man 


264 


Diantha’s Quest 


knew his ground, for without hesitation he moved 
across the room toward the blank wall in the rear, 
stepping noiselessly as a cat. Di chuckled silently 
to herself, thinking that there was nothing there 
that the intruder could possibly want, when a slight 
rustling sound gave her the key to his motive for this 
night’s visitation. 

It was the map of Fairy-land he was hunting for. 
Evidently he had conceived it to be a record of the 
locality of the mysterious treasure. Di considered 
this notion an absurdity, but she had no intention 
of losing her precious drawing. Without further 
thought she ran toward him. 

“You can’t have that, Mr. Yerber!” she cried, 
and seized his arm. 

The intruder was startled, but he was by no means 
caught. Moreover he dared not, for his life, be 
taken. He knew well enough that the miners would 
make short work of his case and that he stood in 
the very shadow of the gallows. And meanwhile the 
girl was calling lustily for help, as she grasped the 
map he had risked so much to secure. 

It was no time for parleying. The man turned 
quickly, giving Di a sharp push, and there was a 
tearing sound as the girl reeled and fell against the 
wall. Then he fled out of the door and disappeared. 

Di, her hand gripping the portion of the map she 
had seized, felt herself falling and then, for a time 
her senses left'her. When she came to herself there 
was a light in the room, her mother was bending 



IT WAS THE MAP OF FAIRYLAND HE WAS HUNTING FOR 































' 




































































































































































































































































































































265 


A Torn Map 

over her and she saw the faces of Sam and Mr. 
Brand looking over Mrs. Carter’s shoulder. She 
sat up quickly, a little bewildered for a moment, then, 
remembering what had happened, sprang to her 
feet. 

“Catch Yerber !” she cried. “He’s stolen the map 
of Fairy-land!” She started toward the door where 
a group of miners were assembled, but Mrs. Carter 
grasped her arm. 

“Di,” her mother protested, “you can’t go. You 
must be dreaming, my dear.” 

“But he took the map, mama,” Di insisted. “Do 
catch him. I saw him do it.” 

“How did you know who it was?” her mother 
demanded. She had no wish to see a tragedy en- 
acted even if the map had been stolen, and she was 
not sure of that as yet. 

“I don’t know how, but I knew !” Di asserted posi- 
tively. “It was Yerber!” 

“How could you tell that? It was too dark to 
see his face, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Carter argued. She 
had noted that at Di’s first words, a number of the 
men outside had left, and it was easy to guess their 
errand. 

“Of course I couldn’t see his face, but I’m per- 
fectly certain,” Di declared. “He wanted the map. 
He thought he could tell from it where that treasure 
he told us of was hidden. That’s what he meant, 
mama, when he was talking to us tonight.” 

“Still, that does not prove it was Yerber,” Mrs. 


266 


Diantha’s Quest 


Carter maintained stubbornly; but she went over to 
the wall, and made certain that the gayly colored 
drawing Di prized was missing. 

“That Yerber done fell in love with that li’l con- 
traption o’ Miss Di’s,” Uncle Toby contributed to 
the argument. “He was powerful interested in it 
when I was a-layin’ the table tonight.” 

But Mrs. Carter, feeling that although the man 
might be a thief he had not merited death, protested 
at naming him without absolute evidence, and would 
have minimized his offense. So they were still argu- 
ing when the men who had been searching the camp 
returned with their report. 

“We can’t find Yerber, high or low,” said one of 
them, speaking to Mrs. Carter. “But don’t you 
worry, ma’am. This camp don’t mean to have its 
ladies lose their beauty sleep, and when we catch 
Yerber we allows he won’t disturb you none in the 
future.” 

“But we can’t be sure it was Mr. Yerber, even if 
he isn’t here,” Mrs. Carter reiterated. “My daugh- 
ter cannot be positive who it was without-having seen 
his face.” 

“Well, ma’am,” the miner answered, “this Yer- 
ber is the only member of this camp who was here 
at sundown and ain’t here now. We, o’ course, 
understands your delicate feelin’s and we calculate 
to give him a fair and impartial trial. All we have 
to do is to call a miners’ meeting. After that he’ll 
be strung up, neat and proper. We don’t aim to 


267 


A Torn Map 

have no pilferin’ goin’ on hereabouts, and I guess 
we know how to stop it.” 

Nothing Mrs. Carter could say altered the deci- 
sion of the miners. Not one of them had the slight- 
est doubt in his mind as to who was guilty, and they 
cried loudly for Yerber’s extermination. A number 
of parties were out on the various trails in search 
of him, and it was freely predicted that he would be 
found before sunrise. 

One after another the indignant men disappeared 
until Mr. Brand and Sam were the only ones who 
lingered. 

“The boy and me can roll up in our blankets and 
sleep outside the door, Mis’ Carter,” Brand pro- 
posed, “if it will make you easier in your mind.” But 
Mrs. Carter replied that this was unnecessary, and, 
while she and Mr. Brand argued the point, Sam and 
Di talked over the night’s events. 

“He certainly was fooled,” Di insisted. “He 
thought the Emerald Mountains were real emeralds, 
I suppose.” 

“Well, I dunno,” Sam remarked, with a puzzled 
shake of his head. “Maybe we’re the ones that are 
fooled. It might be the secret map of a buried 
treasure.” 

“Sam,” laughed Di, sceptically “you’re right, it 
might be. But it is a copy of the old map in Virginia. 
Father has told me about it hundreds of times since 
I was so high.” 

“That’s all right,” Sam agreed. “I guess you 


268 


Diantha’s Quest 


know what you’re talking about; but why was that 
Indian we met back on the trail so talkative when 
he saw it? He didn’t know anything about Emerald 
Mountains, I guess. And it ain’t the first try Yer- 
ber’s had for it, from what you told me.” 

“You mean the time he searched our wagon back 
in St. Jo?” Di asked, and Sam nodded. “I remem- 
bered that myself tonight,” Di went on. “When you 
think of it, a man wouldn’t risk hanging for a pair 
of gloves, would he?” 

“No, he wouldn’t,” Sam agreed, “but if he saw a 
way of putting his hands on a treasure — well, that 
might be different.” 

“But, Sam,” Di said, wrinkling her brow, “how 
could he have known I had the map then? It was 
after Uncle Toby had caught him looking at it to- 
day that he came to mama and me. I can under- 
stand that.” 

“ ’Course I don’t know,” Sam admitted, “I’m 
only guessing; but I think there is a treasure map 
that this man’s heard of. Perhaps your father had 
it and Yerber knew him, so he searched your wagon 
for it.” 

Di’s eyes widened and she looked at Sam, quite 
fascinated. 

“I wonder if you’re right?” she drawled specula- 
tively. “I wonder if there was something about 
that map I didn’t understand? If so, he’s won!” 
She held up the carved stick upon which the map 
had been rolled. “This is all I have left. When he 


269 


A Torn Map 

took it from the wall I snatched at it and held on, 
because I didn’t mean him to escape with it. I held 
tight too! I must have, for when he threw me 
aside the map tore off the thongs that held it to the 
stick. See! There’s just one scrap of the parch- 
ment left.” 

The two regarded the torn fragment for a mo- 
ment in silence -before Sam got up and followed his 
father out. 

“Good-night,” said Mrs. Carter, “or rather, good- 
morning. Do go home and get what sleep you can, 
and please, Mr. Brand, use all the influence you have 
to dissuade the men from following Mr. Yerber. 
What he took was just a toy, of no value whatever. 
Don’t let’s waste time over him. It’s not worth 
while.” 

After the Brands had departed Di spoke to her 
mother of Sam’s conjectures. 

“It may be after all that the map was valuable,” 
she said. “It would explain a lot of queer things if 
it was.” 

“Di, my dear,” her mother returned, “if some- 
one wrote down an imaginary location and painted 
it pink, blue and green, with a little yellow thrown 
in for good measure, and labeled it ‘the pot*of gold 
buried by the fairies at the foot of the rainbow,’ you 
and Sam would want to mount Polka Dots and be off 
to hunt for it tomorrow. You’re .incurably roman- 
tic. Are you quite sure the Yerber man didn’t hurt 
you? If so, be off with you to bed.” 


270 


Diantha’s Quest 


“You called the thief ‘Yerber’, yourself,” Di 
pointed out, “yet, if I do, you won’t allow it for a 
minute.” 

“That’s strictly entre nous ” Mrs. Carter ex- 
plained. “Even if the man is a petty thief I don’t 
think he has earned capital punishment. I fancy 
he will be punished enough if he goes with a ma-p 
of an imaginary land to hunt for an* imaginary 
treasure.” 

“Yes, but suppose he finds a real treasure?” Di 
grumbled, rubbing her sleepy eyes with her fists. 

“If he does, it won’t injure us,” Mrs. Carter said 
calmly. “We’re not likely to hear of it, and we cer- 
tainly would never have found it for ourselves.” 

“Mother,” said Di, “I wouldn’t be as reasonable 
as you are for the world. You’re a darling but oh, 
dear, you’re so sensible ! I can’t see how you ever 
get any fun out of things. Good night!” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


SOURBALL WALKS IN 

T HE next day saw Uncle Toby added to the list 
of Yerber’s implacable ‘enemies, for the thief 
had made his escape on Snowflake, the last 
and most petted of the Angel mules. 

“I don’t keer what you say, li’l Miss,” the old 
man declared obstinately, “I don’t hold with hangin’ 
a man for stealin’ a hoss, but when he takes Miss 
Di’s little contraption, what her heart was set on, 
and my white mule, what was just like one of the 
fambly, I’m-a-goin’ to he’p pull the rope if they catch 
him.” 

Yerber, however, was not caught, and as the rainy 
season drew near and neither Sam nor his father 
had found anything that remotely resembled a for- 
tune, the Brands held many anxious consultations in 
their Tittle shack. 

“When first I knew Di,” Sam said one night, pro- 
ducing *'his well-thumbed guide book, “she said ‘a 
store is more»of a gold mine than a gold mine is,’ and 
she proved it out of this very book, where it was 
talking about fortunes that was made here.” 

He went over the figures that had seemed so elo- 
quent to Di for his father’s benefit. 

271 


272 


Diantha’s Quest 


“Now my idea is this,” he continued. “We’ve 
gat Dots, and we’ve got one horse left, and we 
know what’s needed in the mines. Let’s go down to 
the Bay and as soon as the wet season is over we’ll 
stock up with goods and pack ’em in to camps where 
fhey will -be willing to give high prices for them.” 

“Do you think that will pay, Sammy?” Mr. 
Brand asked cautiously. 

“If it don’t we can try our luck at minin’ again,’ 1 
Sam answered sturdily. “The only thing is who’s 
going to take care of Mis’ Carter and Di if we go 
away?” 

“I’ll talk things over with Mis’ Carter,” said 
Brand. “She’s the most reasonable lady I ever saw. 
Perhaps I can persuade her to go to the Bay with 
us. There’d be ten chances of hearing of her hus- 
band there to one here, and she must have a little 
dust put by now.” 

“It would a-been a lot easier to get there if Yer- 
ber hadn’t taken her last mule,” Sam grumbled. 
“I don’t just see how we’re all goin’, with only your 
old horse and Dots.” 

“Dots sure is a worthless animal,” Mr. Brand 
averred, but Sam would not rise to such a bait. 

“She’s just the best pony in the whole of Cali- 
forny!” he declared. “And I .tell you what, Dad, I 
don’t see why I can’t take a little trip around the 
South and find that rancho where Mr. Carter was 
for so long, while you’re hunting up goods at the 
Bay.” 


273 


Sourball Walks In 

/ 

“What good would that do?” Mr. Brand asked. 
“You don’t speak Spanish, barrin’ a word here and 
there that you picked up from some of the greaser 
miners.” 

“I don’t care,” said Sam stoutly. “I’d find some- 
thingout if I went there. For instance, a gentleman 
like Mr. Carter didn’t just ride away, careless, with- 
out leavin’ an address. You can be quite sure some- 
one there knew where # he went. Only the express 
agent, not having a personal interest, didn’t take the 
trouble to locate that hombre.” 

“It sounds like you might be right,” Mr. Brand 
acknowledged, “though two or three times I’ve 
wondered if perhaps Mr. Carter wasn’.t dead. It’s 
mighty funny for a man to disappear this way in a 
civilized country.” 

Not long after this conversation Sam found Di on 
a grassy bank near a little brook. 

“Why aren’t you working, Sam?” she called, his 
cheery whistling having warned her of his approach. 

“My claim’s petered out!” he declared, throwing 
himself on the grass beside her. “Got about thirty- 
four cents worth yesterday and a dollar fifteen the 
day before, — and I worked -hard ‘.too.” 

“What are you going to do? Take up another 
claim?” Di asked. This news was not unexpected. 
She had known for some time that both Sam and 
his father had reason to feel discontented with their 
earnings. 

“Dad’s talking to your mother about that now,” 


274 


Diantha’s Quest 


Sam said, then interrupted himself. “Look, Di, if 
you squint along the grass stems you’ll see a rainbow 
over the spray beside the brook.” 

“I know,” Di nodded. “Before you came I was 
wondering if I made a quick snatch'that way whether 
I mightn’t be lucky enough to knock off an elf’s 
cap, so that it would have to give me a wish to re- 
gain it.” 

“You might try it,” suggested Sam idly. 

“Maybe I will,” said Di, “but not yet. They’re 
just beginning to be visible, dancing in the sunlight. 
Their clothing is more delicate than butterflies’ 
wings. I think it is silk made out of spiders’ webs 
and dyed with the juice of flowers. They’re good 
little fairies, and kind. I can see that in their faces. 
If I could only tell them my wish without scaring 
them away I’m sure they would give i 4 t to me.” 

“Are they so easily scared?” Sam asked. He 
liked to hear Di elaborate on her fancies. She never 
failed to stir his imagination, so that if he did not 
see all she talked of at least he wished he could and 
his eyes were open to much that was lovely which 
otherwise he would have missed. 

“To be sure they’re easily frightened,” Di went 
on. “They love to be admired and feel real for a 
while. So many people hurt their poor little feel- 
ings by refusing to believe in them, you know, that 
when they see a strange mortal their first idea is to 
run and hide.” 

“What are they doing now?” Sam asked. 


Sourball Walks In 


275 


“See for yourself,” returned Di, making way for 
him to look along the tunnel through the grass. 
“They’re dancing in the sun at the foot of the rain- 
bow.” 

As she spoke she scrambled to her feet and ran to 
the brook side. 

“Is this part of anyone’s claim?” she asked ex- 
citedly. 

“No,” said Sam, bewildered by the sudden change 
of mood and subject. “At least, Dad and I located 
here and prospected all up this brook when first we 
came. We didn’t find enough dust to pay for a — .” 

“We’re going to dig here !” Di interrupted. “I’ve 
always heard of the pot of gold at the foot of the 
rainbow, and mother was making fun about it last 
night, so now we’re going to find it and show her.” 

When she wished to, Di could always make Sam 
do as she commanded. To be sure he had had his fill 
of mining, but if Di said he must dig, dig he would. 
He only asked to be allowed to go after the nec- 
essary tools, which Di would not permit. 

“This isn’t miner’s gold we’re looking for,” she 
explained, dragging at a bush as she spoke. “This 
is fairy gold. If they wish, the elves can put it right 
here under our noses.” As she finished speaking 
the roots came out of the ground with a jerk and 
she went over backward. 

“Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” asked Sam anxi- 
ously, when she picked herself up laughing. 

“Not a bit,” she answered, “and very lucky that 


27 6 


Diantha’s Quest 


I landed on the grass instead of in the brook. Oh, 
Sam, look!” she exclaimed, pointing. 

In the hole left by the roots of the bush lay a nest 
of nuggets ! 

“Here’s the fortune you wished for,” she said, 
quite calmly. “I knew you’d find it sooner or later.” 

“You knew I’d find it?” cried Sam. “What did I 
have to do with finding it? It’s yours! I wouldn't 
touch a pin-point of it.” 

“Very well then,” said Di, “you can cover it all 
up again. I can see the stakes of your location, and 
you’re very much mistaken if you think I’m going to 
rob you.” 

She picked up the uprooted bush, put it back on 
the nuggets and turned away, her head held very 
high. 

Never perhaps had Sam and she been so near a 
real quarrel; but the boy followed her and plucked 
at her sleeve. 

“See here, Di,” he said desperately, “don’t be so 
touchy. It isn’t that I don’t want to be beholden to 
you; but fair is fair! You need money worse than 
I do. I’ve put by a lot, even if it isn’t an everlastin’ 
fortune such as I expected at first, and Dad and I 
are planning to take your ma and you with us to the 
Bay. Dad reckons you’re much more likely to find 
your pa from there ; but money will be needed to take 
you there, and to live. This strike seems to me 
right down providential.” 

“Of course,” said Di, “it’s my fairy god-mother. 


Sourball Walks In 


277 


She always helps me out when I really need her. Al- 
right, Sam, I’ll take half if you will.” 

From this stand nothing would move her. Claims 
along the brook were staked out in her name, in her 
mother’s, in Uncle Toby’s and both Brands. Then 
the public were let into the secret of their strike and 
there was a stampede for the brook, which was 
soon staked for its entire length. 

But Di’s find was the only one of any consequence. 
When fully opened up it proved to contain nearly 
ninety pounds of gold, in nuggets ranging from five 
ounces down. But it was a large pocket and nothing 
more, and after some weeks of feverish digging all 
were obliged to confess as much. 

“I told you all along it was the pot of gold buried 
by the fairies at the foot of the rainbow,” Di re- 
minded Sam, and all in all this was as satisfactory 
an explanation as was made of their discovery. 

However it established both families in an easier 
financial position, and Mrs. Carter was delighted to 
avail herself of Mr. Brand’s escort to the coast. 

Once there, it was hard to restrain Di’s impatience, 
but it was determined to wait till the end of the 
rainy season, which had now begun, before trying 
to seek out the Buenos Aguas Rancho under Sam’s 
escort. 

Their first impression of San Francisco Bay was 
of a forest of masts. Anchored there in the harbor 
were four hundred vessels of every description. Some 
entirely deserted, most of them without crews, but 


278 Diantha’s Quest 

with their captains still aboard in command of empty 
ships. 

The town itself presented almost as curious an ap- 
pearance. There was every variety of habitation 
from canvas tents and knock-down houses to sub- 
stantial dwellings. And these were inhabited by 
every variety of the human race. Chilenos, rubbed 
shoulders with East Indians and Chinamen, French- 
men with Germans or Turks. All were there on the 
same errand. All expected to be rich beyond the 
dreams of avarice. Returned miners with their bags 
of gold and little scales added to the fever. The 
hotels were usually more gambling house than hotel. 
Altogether it was the last town in the world that Mrs 
Carter would have selected as a place to bring up her 
young daughter. But there they were and there, for 
the time, it was expedient that they should stay. 

However prices were so extravagant that if they 
did not wish their new-found fortune to melt like 
sugar in water it was necessary to arrange some 
plan of existence, and finally Mr. Brand bought two 
knock-down houses which he, Sam and Uncle Toby 
erected side by side. 

The ladies had the larger house, which was also 
used as living room and kitchen, and they lived there 
much as they had in the camp. Water was a luxury, 
but during the rains this difficulty was not so press- 
ing. The streets, however, were well-nigh impass- 
able. The mud seemed bottomless and the side- 
walks which had been made of bales of Chilean 


Sourball Walks In 


279 


flour, tierces of tobacco, cook-stoves and such mer- 
chandise gradually sank deeper and deeper into the 
ooze. 

“Look what I done found, ” Uncle Toby remarked 
unemotionally one evening, ushering an extraordin- 
ary figure into the room where Sam and Di, under 
Mrs. Carter’s tutelage, were doing lessons in the 
lamp light. 

Mr. Brand, vastly impressed by such erudition, 
had been listening to what was going on under pre- 
tense of reading an old Philadelphia newspaper, 
which he had bought for two dollars from a man 
who had used it for packing. At Uncle Toby’s 
words he looked up sharply. 

“A Dutch Charley!” he exclaimed, not recogniz- 
ing the new comer. 

Nearly every large camp had one character such 
as now stood before them. If there happened to 
be two in the same camp they were deadly rivals. 
And all of them were known as “Dutch Charley.” 

Over a broad white waistcoat, covering a com- 
fortable protuberance, hung no less than four gold 
watch chains. Looped over his neck and shoulders 
and around his waist hung long festoons of nuggets 
linked together with copper wire. The very buttons 
on his coat and the studs in his shirt were of gold. 
In such a corpulent and opulent figure it took Di’s 
quick eye to discover their gaunt old friend Sour- 
ball. 


280 Diantha’s Quest 

“It’s Mr. Ball,” she cried. “I mean Mr. Deitz, 
mama.” 

“I done foun’ him,” Uncle Toby remarked pessi- 
mistically, “with one leg down a stove-hole, a-yell- 
in’ as if he was killed.” 

“I thought I was,” Sourball declared. “It isn’t 
my idea of a joke to throw away all the stove-lids 
out of the sidewalk on a night as black as this. I 
made sure I’d broken my leg.” 

“What I want to know,” said Uncle Toby severely 
“and that’s the reason I brung him here, is what he’s 
done with my little mule? It wasn’t the best little 
mule I had, but it was a lot better than no little mule 
at all.” 

“Come in and sit down, Mr. Deitz,” Mrs. Carter 
said, hospitably, “and tell us all about yourself. We 
don’t need to ask if you’ve prospered. We can see 
that for ourselves.” 

“I suppose that machine of yours was a grand 
success,” Mr. Brand suggested. 

“Mind you,” Sourball, said ponderously, as he 
took the indicated chair, “I’m not prepared to say 
that the principle of that machine was wrong. No 
sir ! I do not go as far as that and sometime when I 
have leisure, I intend to devote myself to perfect- 
ing it; but for the present I employ Indians to de- 
velop my claim and their methods are primitive, 
very primitive.” 

“Where you done got my little mule?” Uncle 
Toby murmured. “That’s all I’m askin’ you.” 


Sourball Walks In 


281 


At his words Sourball turned upon him with an 
impressive clashing of chains. 

“I have all three of your mules safely stabled here 
in town,” he said. “Do you want them tonight? 
Or can you wait until morning? Remember the 
stove lids are off,” he added in warning. 

“You have all three of our mules!” cried Di, 
who had been silent unbearably long for her and 
was fairly bubbling over with questions. “For good- 
ness sake, how did you get them?” 

“I met the Cronins at Sutter’s,” Sourball explained 
in a matter-of-fact tone. “Cronin is employed there 
as a teamster. They missed you by no more than 
a day or two, it seems. I came on a little later and 
told them I was on my way here to find you and 
return your mule, and they asked me to bring the 
one they had along. Cronin will be glad to buy it 
if you want to sell.” 

“Sell my little mule!” Uncle Toby snorted indig- 
nantly, sotto voce. 

“How is the Cronin baby?” Mrs. Carter asked. 

“It’s thriving,” Sourball declared. “It’s mother 
says it will beat them all in a year or two.” 

“But where did you get the third mule?” Brand 
inquired. “That’s the thing that’s puzzling me.” 

“I won it,” Sourball said, a trifle shamefacedly, 
“playing cards, if you must know, though I’d not like 
you to think I’m a gambler, Mrs. Carter. I look 
on it as a vice; but I came down from Sutter’s by 
way of Sonoma and Bodega, and at Bodega I met 


282 


Diantha’s Quest 


a man named Yerber. You probably never ran 
across him, but he was captain of a fast train called 
the Bidwell’s Bar Express that I trailed along with 
for a few days.” 

“We know him,” Mrs. Carter murmured. 

“When I got into Bodega the two mules began to 
whicker and bray, and another mule answered them. 
I went and looked it over, and it didn’t take me long 
to make sure that it was your lead mule. So I natur- 
ally expected I’d find you there. But there was only 
this man Yerber, who claimed that the mule was 
his. He said he’d won it in a game with some Mexi- 
cans, and perhaps he had; but if so it was the only 
thing he had won, for he was cleaned out complete- 
ly.” Deitz stopped and looked around for con- 
firmation or denial of Yerber’s statements. 

“Go on,” Mrs. Carter urged. “Your story is 
very interesting.” 

“It seemed to me,” Sourball resumed, “that it 
would go farther to show my gratitude than any- 
thing else I could think of, if I could bring in your 
whole team and give them back to you in good condi- 
tion; but do you know that man wouldn’t sell? not 
for any price ! However, he was a crazy gambler. 
I told him I was no card-player, and after that he 
simply wouldn’t let me alone. He came to me that 
night when I’d actually gone to bed. ‘You want 
that mule?’ he said. ‘Well, get up and I’ll play you 
for it !’ And in the end I played with him and won.” 
Deitz paused to consider the effect of this on the in- 


Sourball Walks In 


283 


te rested faces gathered around him. Then he re- 
sumed, fumbling in his pocket. “The man told me 
he had a secret map of a great treasure. ‘I’ve tried 
for it and I can’t locate it,’ he said. ‘There was a 
piece torn off the map that must have had the points 
of the compass on it, but I’ll play you for it and per- 
haps you’ll make out better than I have.’ So I 
played him and I won this, too. It was what they 
call ‘beginner’s luck’ I suppose.” He threw down 
on the table before them the torn map of Fairy-land. 
“It’s a curious thing,” he continued, “but I can’t 
make head or tail of it.” 

It did not take long to put Sourball in possession 
of the facts of the case, and his pleasure in Di’s de- 
light at the return of her plaything was almost pathe- 
tic. It was evident that he had a genuine regard 
for the Carters, who had befriended him in his need, 
and when he rose to go neither his grotesque finery 
nor his new-found pomposity concealed the real 
friendliness he felt for them. 

Promising to come again next day and restore 
his beloved mules to Uncle Toby, he took his leave; 
but paused in the doorway to speak to Mr. Brand. 

“You said the second street to the left had side- 
walks made of cases of goods?” he asked. “Maybe 
you wouldn’t mind setting me on the right road? I 
don’t want to break my other leg in a stove-hole.” 

“Sammy will go with you,” Mr. Brand said lazily. 
He wanted to talk Deitz and his big strike over with 


284 


Diandia’s Quest 


the ladies ; so Sam, feeling rather ill-used, set out to 
act as Sourball’s guide. 

However he was to be rewarded, for the door had 
hardly closed behind them before Deitz laid a hand 
on the boy’s arm and led him out of possible earshot. 

“I wanted to ask your father; but, if you can’t tell 
me, you can ask him for me. Do you think Mrs. 
Carter and her daughter would be pleased if Cap- 
tain Carter found them?” 

Sourball’s question left Sam gasping. 

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, 
half indignantly. “How do you mean ‘found them’ ? 
It’s them that’s lookin’ for him.” 

“I wonder,” Deitz remarked knowingly, putting a 
finger beside his nose and tapping his cheek reflec- 
tively. “I should say they were running away from 
him. Anyway I thought I’d find out, and if Mr. 
Carter’s presence isn’t agreeable to the ladies, why 
they could take a ship to Panama without his ever 
knowing. I’ve plenty of gold! Plenty!” He jingled 
his chains to emphasize his meaning. 

“See here,” cried Sam, now so utterly bewildered 
that he reverted to his earlier belief that Sourball 
was crazy. “The ladies ain’t runnin’ away from 
nothin’ nor nobody. Mr. Carter was here in Cali- 
forny, and so they came too.” 

“Now that’s where you’re all wrong. Mr. Carter 
wasn’t in California,” Deitz asserted positively. “He 
was in the east. He told me so himself, so it’s plain 
they were running away from him. He followed 


Sourball Walks In 


285 


along, but lost track of them away back, and what 
I want to know is, do I tell him where they are, or 
don’t I?” 

Sam snorted indignantly. 

“Do you mean to say you know where Mr. Car- 
ter is and didn’t tell ’em?” he questioned explosively. 

“Sure I didn’t,” Deitz replied blandly. “I owe 
Mrs. Carter and her daughter a heap more than I 
can ever pay them. I’m grateful to those ladies, 
and you don’t catch me handing them over a hus- 
band they don’t want.” 

“But they do want him!” Sam burst out. “Here, 
you turn around and go back with me. You’ll find 
out quick enough whether they want him or not. 
They’ll be wild with joy. At least Di will. Mis’ 
Carter I guess will be mighty glad, too, only she 
won’t make so much fuss about it. You come on.” 
In his excitement Sam had grasped Deitz by the 
arm and whirled him around in his tracks. 

“Hold on, sonny,” Deitz protested, holding 
back. “Don’t you be in such a hurry. You think 
you know all about it, but do you? How can you 
account for them traveling out here when he wrote 
them specially that he was going east to see them? 
Let’s hear you explain that.” 

“It don’t make any difference whether I can ex- 
plain it or not,” Sam insisted, again grasping the 
man’s arm and trying to pull him toward the house. 
“I know that the Carters are looking for Mr. Carter 


286 


Diantha’s Quest 


every way they can think of. You tell me where he 
is. I’ll do the rest.” 

“Well,” Deitz said thoughtfully, “I know where 
he was yesterday, but I can’t be sure he’s in the same 
place today. He was planning to strike out for 
some rancho down south a ways.” 

“Then we must stop him!” Sam cried excitedly. 
He was appalled at the thought that Mr. Carter 
might disappear again. It seemed that if such a 
thing happened they might never be able to find him. 

“So-o ! But if it’s just the same to you, I’d rather 
talk it over with your father before I do anything,” 
Deitz was still unconvinced. “I’m mighty grateful 
to Mrs. Carter, and — .” 

“We’ll get Dad at once,” Sam interrupted. While 
there was a possibility that Mr. Carter had left town 
it might be better not to say anything to the ladies 
until his whereabouts were ascertained. If indeed 
he had gone Sam meant to mount Polka Dots at 
sun-up and ride after him, but meanwhile he would 
be glad of his father’s advice. “You go into our 
bunk house and wait,” he went on, giving Mr. Deitz 
a push in that direction as he hurried away. 


CHAPTER XXIV 
sam’s wish comes true 

D I WAS awakened next morning by the sound 
of whistling. She opened her eyes to find 
the sun shining brightly. It was a jewel of 
a day such as once in a while glorifies the wet season 
in California. 

“No one but Sam could whistle like that,” she 
thought sleepily, and then began to wonder if the 
boy might not be able to make money out of this 
gift of his. There was a wandering fiddler named 
John Kelly who was reported to earn more gold dust 
playing for the miners than most of those who paid 
him ever made. But suddenly the girl caught a new 
note in Sam’s music that made her sit up, broad 
awake. Surely he was calling to her! His tune 
seemed to cry, “Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!” And in a 
jiffy she was out of bed and dressing hastily. 

“What is it, Sam?” she asked, the moment she 
put her curly head out of doors. “Do stop that 
noise. You’ll wake mama.” 

“It’s time she was awake !” Sam declared reckless- 
ly, letting out another piercing note. “Everybody 
ought to be up on such a wonderful morning as this.” 
287 


288 


Diantha’s Quest 


“Sam Brand, what has gotten into you?” Di 
questioned in amazement. “Has Mr. Deitz given 
you a share in a new strike?” 

“Better than that,” Sam announced. “I’ve got my 
wish, Di ! I’ve got my wish ! It was a little slow 
in coming but it is here at last.” 

“That mysterious wish! So now you can tell me 
what it was? I’ve been awfully curious. — ” 

“You’ll know soon now,” Sam interrupted. “Any 
minute in fact.” He had led her on as he spoke 
until they stood at the corner of the street. “Look 
that way and you’ll see it coming! 1 ’ he cried, no 
longer suppressing his excitement. 

One glance was enough for Di and she was off like 
an arrow from the bow. Missing stove lids were 
nothing to her. She fairly flew over the sidewalk 
until she threw herself into the arms that were 
*eady to receive her. 

“Papa! Papa!” she half sobbed. 

It was a wonderfully happy party that assembled 
for breakfast that morning, with Uncle Toby hov- 
ering over the table and brushing imaginary specks 
off Mr. Carter’s coat to show that he had not for- 
gotten his duties. Mr. Brand and Sam had wanted 
to breakfast elsewhere, but the Carters had insisted 
on their presence. 

“This family is never going to be parted again,” 
Mr. Carter said positively. “My wandering days 
are over. I’ve found a place that I am content to 


Sam’s Wish Comes True 289 

live and die in. Other people call it the Buenos 
Aguas Rancho, but I call it Fairy-land. I’ve only 
one worry now in all the world. As you didn’t get 
my letters of course you never got the map I sent 
you.” 

“Oh, yes, I did,” said Di surprised. 

“How can that be?” asked her father, wrinkling 
his brow, and addressing Mrs. Carter. “A letter, 
saying I would shortly come east for you, and money 
were in the package with the map.” 

“There was nothing in it but the map when we 
got it,” Mrs. Carter averred. 

“After all that’s the important thing now,” Mr. 
Carter said. “Let me have it, Di.” 

Di obediently brought it from a side table where 
she had thrown it the night before. 

“I’m sorry it got torn,” she said. “It’s not hurt 
much. It happened when Mr. Yerber stole it.” 

“When Yerber stole it?” her father repeated as 
if he could not believe his ears. “What in the world 
do you know of Yerber?” 

Everybody started to explain at once, but stopped 
when Mrs. Carter said “You remember, Di, he told 
us that was only a nickname. Yerba Buena Cy, he 
said he was called.” 

“Well, just because he said so, I’m quite sure it 
was not true,” Di exclaimed. “You see, papa, he 
had gloves that I’d embroidered for your birthday 
long ago, and he pretended he bought them because 
the initials were his own.” 


290 


Diantha’s Quest 


Once more everybody began to talk until Mr. Car- 
ter raised a protesting hand. 

“Please, please! One at a time,” he said. “I’m 
used to Di’s ways, so suppose you let her tell me 
how and where you came across Yerber. As a mat- 
ter of fact her guess is good, because the man is just 
Jake Yerber and he stole those gloves when we sent 
him to the Bay with letters for the out-going mail.” 

Di made short work of the story, and Mr. Carter 
held up the map half sadly. 

“It’s too bad the rascal kept the only part of it 
that was worth anything,” he said. 

“He didn’t keep any of it,” Di declared, surprised. 

“He kept the stick upon which it was rolled,” 
Mr. Carter explained, but Di shook a positive head. 

“Oh no,” she said, “he never had that. I snatched 
it away from him, that’s how the map got torn.” 

“Have you still got it?” her father cried, “be- 
cause, if you have, the Buenos Aguas Rancho is 
ours.” 

“I have it safe,” Di answered him. 

“How is that stick so valuable?” Mrs. Carter 
asked. “Let us have no more mysteries, Charles.” 

“It’s a record made in Indian fashion,” Mr. Car- 
ter explained, “of the hiding place of a very rich 
treasure. I had gone to San Diego, on business of 
importance for the hidalgo, when a rumor came that 
American soldiers were about to descend upon the 
rancho. Judging them by the Mexican soldiery with 


Sam’s Wish Comes True 


291 


whom he had had to deal, the old gentleman and 
one Indian servant, a trustworthy man, gathered to- 
gether all his money, plate and jewels, which they 
rode off with and buried.” 

“That’s what the Indian told us!” Sam could not 
forbear whispering excitedly to Di. 

“When I returned the final show of resistance to 
the Americans was over, but it did not fit with the 
old man’s pride to live in the country of his con- 
querors, so he determined to go to Spain, where he 
had sent his only son some time before because he 
was not altogether safe under Mexican rule.” 

Di nodded, remembering J. B. Smith’s story. 

“Meanwhile the old gentleman had come to regard 
me as another son,” Mr. Carter went on. “I was 
very anxious, not having heard from you, so he sug- 
gested that I escort him to New York and then go 
to look for you. Crossing the Isthmus, his old ser- 
vant died, but he and I got safely over and I saw him 
leave for Spain before I began my hunt for you. 
The day he sailed he told me that he proposed to 
deed the rancho to me, only trusting to my honor, 
to find the treasure and forward it to him. The old 
Indian was dead. The tally-stick held the only reli- 
able record of the hiding place, as I knew the hidalgo 
memory to be very faulty, but when he described the 
stick to me I remembered that I had picked it up 
from his writing table where I was at work and, un- 
conscious of its value, had used it to mount that map 
I had made for you.” 


292 


Diantha’s Quest 


“Was it Yerber who took my map to mail?” Di 
asked puzzled. “Why do you suppose he sent it 
to me at all if afterward he wanted it enough to try 
to steal it?” 

“I’ve been turning that over in my mind,” her 
father replied, “and this is the conclusion I have 
come to. Yerber had an easy life at the rancho and 
meant to come back to us ; but he was always a gam- 
bler and in San Francisco, or before he got there 
even, he had perhaps lost all his own money, so he 
opened the package, took out the money it contained 
and sealed the package again, intending to swear 
by all he held sacred that its contents must have been 
stolen after it left his hands. Then he either 
played cards till it was gone or used the money to 
buy supplies to take him to the gold fields. I remem- 
ber we explained his non-return by the fact that he 
was in San Francisco when the first big strike was 
reported and had probably been taken with a bad 
case of gold fever. Having sent the map off, it may 
have occurred to him, too late, that it contained the 
record of the buried treasure; because naturally it 
was an open secret about the rancho that the plate 
and other valuables had not walked off on their own 
legs.” 

“Of course that’s exactly what did happen,” said 
Di, a light breaking in on her, “for it was Yerber 
himself J. B. Smith saw, and it was my package that 
he opened.” 


Sam’s Wish Comes True 


293 


When Smith’s letter had been produced and read 
no doubt of this remained. 

“Oh, dear,” sighed Di, “I’m afraid its going 
to be very hum-drum to settle down and learn to 
be a young lady, after all that I’ve been doing for 
nearly a year; but I suppose Sam and I will have to 
study like mad to make up for lost time.” 

Sam looked at her with his mouth a little open. 
In all the rejoicing that had gone on around him 
he had been conscious of a tiny ache because it 
seemed to mean that he and these friends were soon 
to part, perhaps not forever, but at least that things 
would never again be on the same footing between 
them. 

“It’ll be harder work studying alone,” he said at 
last with a sigh. 

“Sam Brand, that’s the meanest thing you ever 
said!” Di cried, flushing crimson. “You don’t in- 
tend to leave us now, do you? You always pre- 
tended that what you wanted most was an educa- 
tion, and here’s your chance. If you go off hunting 
for more gold I — I’ll never forgive you!” There 
were tears in her eyes as she stopped speaking and 
she turned to bury her head on her father’s shoulder, 
while he looked over the beloved red curls smiling 
at Sam. 

“You can’t get out of it, young man,” he an- 
nounced. “You wanted an education and now you’re 
forced to have one, so you may as well be resigned. 
Mr. Brand,” he went on, turning to Sam’s father, 


294 


Diantha’s Quest 


who was very silent in such elegant company, “there’s 
a place waiting for you on the rancho. Come down 
and look us over; then, if you think you’d like to 
have another try in the gold fields, there will be 
nothing to stop you; but you’ve none of you seen the 
real California yet, the California of golden sun 
and golden fruit and golden flowers; better than all 
of the hard gold ever dug out of the ground. When 
you’ve once seen it you will all love it as I do and 
never want to go away again!” 

“It must be Fairy-land,” Sam Brand thought as 
he saw in Mr. Carter’s eyes the same, far-away, 
dreamy look he had so often noted in Diantha’s. 

“You know, Di,” he said to her a few days later 
when they were busy preparing for their journey to 
the Buenos Aguas Rancho, “I’ve discovered some- 
thing.” 

“Gold?” asked the girl. 

“Better than that. I’ve a fairy god-mother,” he 
announced triumphantly. 

“Oh, of course. I always said you had,” Di de- 
clared in her most matter-of-fact way. 

“But I know a lot about my fairy god-mother. 
More than most people do,” the boy went on. “I 
can tell you just what she looks like.” 

“Really!” exclaimed Di in surprise. “What is 
she like?” 

“Well, for one thing,” Sam drawled slowly, “she’s 
got red hair!” 


Sam’s Wish Comes True 


295 


“Nonsense, Sam!” laughed Di, catching his mean- 
ing. “Fairy god-mothers don’t have red hair; but 
if one of them did,” she continued with mock sever- 
ity, “she would much prefer that you called it au- 
burn.” 




































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